OLD  LADY 
UMBER-51 


LOUISE 
ORSSLUN 


OLD  LADY 
NUMBER  31 


OLD  LADY 
NUMBER  31 


By 
LOUISE   FORSSLUND 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  STORY  OF  SARAH. 
THE  SHIP  OF  DREAMS.  ETC. 


GROSSET     &     DUN  LAP 

PUBLISHERS       ::       NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
THS  CKNTURY  Co. 


TO 
MY  MOTHER 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

i  THE  TEA-TABLE 3 

ii  "GOOD-BY" 22 

in  THE  CANDIDATE 39 

iv  ONE  OF  THEM 52 

v  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER      ....    66 

vi  INDIAN  SUMMER 78 

vn  OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 89 

vin  THE  ANNIVERSARY 105 

ix  A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 121 

x  THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 136 

xi  MENTAL  TREATMENT 149 

xn  "A  PASSEL  OF  MEDDLERS" 168 

xin  THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE    ....  175 

xiv  CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS  ....  186 

xv  THE  "HARDENING"  PROCESS    ....  196 

xvi  "A  REG'LAR  Hoss" 209 

xvn  THE  DESERTER 222 

xvin  SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 228 

xix  EXCHANGING  THE  OLIVE-BRANCH     .    .  241 

xx  THE  FATTED  CALF 249 

xxi  "OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER"    .....  259 


OLD  LADY 
NUMBER  31 


OLD  LADY 
NUMBER  31 


THE  TEA-TABLE 

XGELINE'S  slender,  wiry  form 
d  small,  glossy  gray  head  bent 
over  the  squat  brown  tea-pot  as  she 
shook  out  the  last  bit  of  leaf  from  the 
canister.  The  canister  was  no  longer 
hers,  neither  the  tea-pot,  nor  even  the 
battered  old  pewter  spoon  with  which 
she  tapped  the  bottom  of  the  tin  to  dis 
lodge  the  last  flicker  of  tea-leaf  dust. 
The  three  had  been  sold  at  auction 

m 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

that  day  in  response  to  the  auctioneer's 
inquiry,  "What  am  I  bid  for  the  lot?" 

Nothing  in  the  familiar  old  kitchen 
was  hers,  Angeline  reflected,  except 
Abraham,  her  aged  husband,  who  was 
taking  his  last  gentle  ride  in  the  old 
rocking-chair — the  old  arm-chair  with 
painted  roses  blooming  as  brilliantly 
across  its  back  as  they  had  bloomed 
when  the  chair  was  first  purchased 
forty  years  ago.  Those  roses  had  come 
to  be  a  source  of  perpetual  wonder  to 
the  old  wife,  an  ever  present  example. 

Neither  time  nor  stress  could  wilt 
them  in  a  single  leaf.  When  Abe  took 
the  first  mortgage  on  the  house  in 
order  to  invest  in  an  indefinitely  located 
Mexican  gold-mine,  the  melodeon 
dropped  one  of  its  keys,  but  the  roses 
nodded  on  with  the  same  old  sunny 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


hope ;  when  Abe  had  to  take  the  second 
mortgage  and  Tenafly  Gold  became  a 
forbidden  topic  of  conversation,  the 
minute-hand  fell  off  the  parlor  clock, 
but  the  flowers  on  the  back  of  the  old 
chair  blossomed  on  none  the  less 
serenely. 

The  soil  grew  more  and  more  barren 
as  the  years  went  by ;  but  still  the  roses 
had  kept  fresh  and  young,  so  why, 
argued  Angy,  should  not  she?  If  old 
age  and  the  pinch  of  poverty  had  failed 
to  conquer  their  valiant  spirit,  why 
should  she  listen  to  the  croaking  tale? 
If  they  bloomed  on  with  the  same  crim 
son  flaunt  of  color,  though  the  rockers 
beneath  them  had  grown  warped  and 
the  body  of  the  chair  creaked  and 
groaned  every  time  one  ventured  to  sit 
in  it,  why  should  she  not  ignore  the 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

stiffness  which  the  years  seemed  to 
bring  to  her  joints,  the  complaints 
which  her  body  threatened  every  now 
and  again  to  utter,  and  fare  on  herself, 
a  hardy  perennial  bravely  facing  life's 
winter-time  ? 

Even  this  dreaded  day  had  not 
taken  one  fraction  of  a  shade  from 
the  glory  of  the  roses,  as  Angeline 
could  see  in  the  bud  at  one  side  of 
Abraham's  head  and  the  full-blown 
flower  below  his  right  ear;  so  why 
should  she  droop  because  the  sale 
of  her  household  goods  had  been 
somewhat  disappointing?  Someivliat? 
When  the  childless  old  couple,  still  sail 
ing  under  the  banner  of  a  charity- 
forbidding  pride,  became  practically 
reduced  to  their  last  copper,  just  as 
Abe's  joints  were  "loosenin'  up"  after 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


a  five  years'  siege  of  rheumatism,  and 
decided  to  sell  all  their  worldly  posses 
sions,  apart  from  their  patched  and 
threadbare  wardrobes  and  a  few 
meager  keepsakes,  they  had  depended 
upon  raising  at  least  two  hundred  dol 
lars,  one  half  of  which  was  to  secure 
Abe  a  berth  in  the  Old  Men's  Home  at 
Indian  Village,  and  the  other  half  to 
make  Angeline  comfortable  for  life,  if 
a  little  lonely,  in  the  Old  Ladies'  Home 
in  their  own  native  hamlet  of  Shore- 
ville.  Both  institutions  had  been  gen 
erously  endowed  by  the  same  estate, 
and  were  separated  by  a  distance  of 
but  five  miles. 

"Might  as  waal  be  five  hunderd, 
with  my  rheumatiz'  an'  yer  weak 
heart,"  Abraham  had  growled  when 
Angy  first  proposed  the  plan  as  the 

C/3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

only  dignified  solution  to  their  problem 
of  living. 

"But,"  the  little  wife  had  rejoined, 
"it  '11  be  a  mite  o'  comfort  a-knowin'  a 
body  's  so  near,  even  ef  yer  can't  git 
tew  'em." 

Now,  another  solution  must  be 
found  to  the  problem;  for  the  auction 
was  over,  and  instead  of  two  hundred 
dollars  they  had  succeeded  in  raising 
but  one  hundred  dollars  and  two  cents. 

"That  air  tew  cents  was  fer  the 
flour-sifter,"  inwardly  mourned  Angy, 
"an'  it  was  wuth  double  an'  tribble,  fer 
it 's  been  a  good  friend  ter  me  fer  nigh 
on  ter  eight  year." 

"Tew  cents  on  the  second  hunderd," 
said  Abe  for  the  tenth  time.  "I  Ve 
counted  it  over  an'  over.  One  hunderd 
dollars  an'  tew  pesky  pennies.  An'  I 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


never  hear  a  man  tell  so  many  lies  in 
my  life  as  that  air  auctioneer.  Yew  'd 
V  thought  he  was  sellin'  out  the  Em- 
pery  o'  Rooshy.  Hy-guy,  it  sounded 
splendid.  Fust  off  I  thought  he  'd  raise 
us  more  'n  we  expected.  An'  mebbe 
he  would  have  tew,  Angy,"  a  bit  rue 
fully,  "ef  yew  'd  'a'  let  me  advertise  a 
leetle  sooner.  I  don't  s'pose  half 
Shoreville  knows  yit  that  we  was 
gwine  ter  have  a  auction  sale."  He 
watched  the  color  rising  in  her  cheeks 
with  a  curious  mixture  of  pride  in  her 
pride  and  regret  at  its  consequences. 
"It  's  no  use  a-talkin',  Mother,  Pride 
an'  Poverty  makes  oneasy  bed-fellers." 
He  leaned  back  in  the  old  chair, 
creaking  out  a  dismal  echo  to  the 
auctioneer's,  "Going,  going,  gone!" 
while  the  flush  deepened  in  Angy's 

C93 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


cheek.  Again  she  fastened  her  gaze 
upon  the  indomitable  red  rose  which 
hung  a  pendant  ear-ring  on  the  right 
side  of  Abraham's  head. 

"Yew  would  n't  'a'  had  folks  a-com- 
in'  here*  ter  bid  jest  out  o'  charity, 
would  yew?"  she  demanded.  "An' 
anyhow,"  in  a  more  gentle  tone, — the 
gently  positive  tone  which  she  had  ac 
quired  through  forty  years  of  living 
with  Abraham, — "we  hain't  so  bad  off 
with  one  hunderd  dollars  an'  tew  cents, 
an' — beholden  ter  nobody!  It  's  tew 
cents  more  'n  yew  need  ter  git  yew  inter 
the  Old  Men's,  an'  them  extry  tew 
cents  '11  pervide  fer  me  jest  bewtiful." 
Abraham  stopped  rocking  to  stare 
hard  at  his  resourceful  wife,  an  invol 
untary  twinkle  of  amusement  in  his 
blue  eyes.  With  increased  firmness, 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


she  repeated,  "Jest  bewtiful!"  where 
upon  Abe,  scenting  self-sacrifice  on 
his  wife's  part,  sat  up  straight  and 
snapped,  "Haow  so,  haow  so,  Mother  ?" 
"It  '11  buy  a  postage-stamp,  won't 
it?"— she  was  fairly  aggressive  now, — 
"an'  thar  's  a  envelop  what  wa'n't  put 
up  ter  auction  in  the  cupboard  an'  a 
paper-bag  I  kin  iron  out, — ketch  me 
a-gwine  ter  the  neighbors  an'  a-beggin' 
fer  writin'-paper— an'  I  '11  jest  set 
daown  an'  write  a  line  ter  Mis'  Halsey. 
Her  house  hain't  a  stun's  throw  from 
the  Old  Men's;  an'  I  '11  offer  ter  come 
an'  take  keer  o'  them  air  young  'uns  o' 
her'n  fer  my  board  an'  keep  an' — ten 
cents  a  week.  I  was  a-gwine  ter  say  a 
quarter,  but  I  don't  want  ter  impose 
on  nobody.  Seem'  that  they  hain't 
over  well-ter-do,  I  would  go  fer  nothin', 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

but  I  got  ter  have  somethin'  ter  keep 
up  appearances  on,  so  yew  won't  have 
no  call  ter  feel  ashamed  of  me  when  I 
come  a-visitin'  ter  the  hum."  Invol 
untarily,  as  she  spoke,  Angy  lifted  her 
knotted  old  hand  and  smoothed  back 
the  hair  from  her  brow;  for  through 
all  the  struggling  years  she  had  kept  a 
certain,  not  unpleasing,  girlish  pride 
in  her  personal  appearance. 

Abraham  had  risen  with  creaks  of 
his  rheumatic  joints,  and  was  novT 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
feet  lifted  slowly  and  painfully  with 
every  step,  yet  still  his  blue  eyes  flash 
ing  with  the  fire  of  indignant  protest. 

"Me  a-bunkin'  comfortable  in  the 
Old  Men's,  an'  yew  a-takin'  keer  o' 
them  Halsey  young  'uns  fer  ten  cents  a 
week!  I  would  n't  take  keer  o'  'em  fer 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


ten  cents  a  short  breath.  Thar  be 
young  'uns  an'  young  'uns,"  he  elu 
cidated,  "but  they  be  tartars !  Yew  'd 
be  in  yer  grave  afore  the  fust  frost; 
an'  who  's  a-gwine  ter  bury  yer— the 
taown?"  His  tone  became  gentle  and 
broken:  "No,  no,  Angy.  Yew  be  a 
good  gal,  an'  dew  jest  as  we  calc'lated 
on.  Yew  jine  the  Old  Ladies';  yew  Ve 
got  friends  over  thar,  yew  '11  git  erlong 
splendid.  An'  I  '11  git  erlong  tew.  Yer 
know"— throwing  his  shoulders  back, 
he  assumed  the  light,  bantering  tone  so 
familiar  to  his  wife— "the  poorhouse 
doors  is  always  open.  I  'd  jest  admire 
ter  go  thar.  Thar  's  a  rocking-chair  in 
every  room,  and  they  say  the  grub  is 
A  No.  i."  He  winked  at  her,  smiling 
his  broadest  smile  in  his  attempt  to 
deceive. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Both  wink  and  smile,  however,  were 
lost  upon  Angy,  who  was  busy  dividing 
the  apple-sauce  in  such  a  way  that  Abe 
would  have  the  larger  share  without 
suspecting  it,  hoping  the  while  that  he 
would  not  notice  the  absence  of  butter 
at  this  last  home  meal.  She  herself  had 
never  believed  in  buttering  bread  when 
there  was  "sass"  to  eat  with  it;  but 
Abe's  extravagant  tastes  had  always 
carried  him  to  the  point  of  desiring 
both  butter  and  sauce  as  a  relish  to  his 
loaf. 

"Naow,  fur  's  I  'm  concerned,"  pur 
sued  Abe,  "I  hain't  got  nothin'  agin  the 
poorhouse  fer  neither  man  ner  woman. 
I  'd  as  lief  let  yew  go  thar  'stid  o' 
me;  fer  I  know  very  well  that  's  what 
yew  're  a-layin'  out  fer  ter  do.  Yes, 
yes,  Mother,  yew  can't  fool  me.  But 

n'43 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


think  what  folks  would  say!  Think 
what  they  would  say!  They  'd  crow, 
Thar  's  Abe  a-takin'  his  comfort  in 
the  Old  Men's  Hum,  an'  Angeline, 
she  's  a-eatin'  her  heart  out  in  the  poor- 
house!'" 

Angeline  had,  indeed,  determined  to 
be  the  one  to  go  to  the  poorhouse ;  but 
all  her  life  long  she  had  cared,  perhaps 
to  a  faulty  degree,  for  "what  folks 
would  say."  Above  all,  she  cared  now 
for  what  they  had  said  and  what  they 
still  might  say  about  her  husband  and 
this  final  ending  to  his  down-hill  road. 
She  rested  her  two  hands  on  the  table 
and  looked  hard  at  the  apple-sauce 
until  it  danced  before  her  eyes.  She 
could  not  think  with  any  degree  of 
clearness.  Vaguely  she  wondered  if 
their  supper  would  dance  out  of  sight 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


before  they  could  sit  down  to  eat  it. 
So  many  of  the  good  things  of  life  had 
vanished  ere  she  and  Abe  could  touch 
their  lips  to  them.  Then  she  felt  his 
shaking  hand  upon  her  shoulder  and 
heard  him  mutter  with  husky  tender 
ness: 

"My  dear,  this  is  the  fust  chance 
since  we  've  been  married  that  I  Ve  had 
to  take  the  wust  of  it.  Don't  say  a 
word  agin  it  naow,  Mother,  don't  yer. 
I  Ve  brought  yer  ter  this  pass.  Lemme 
bear  the  brunt  o'  it." 

Ah,  the  greatest  good  of  all  had  not 
vanished,  and  that  was  the  love  they 
bore  one  to  the  other.  The  sunshine 
came  flooding  back  into  Mother's  heart. 
She  lifted  her  face,  beautiful,  rosy, 
eternally  young.  This  was  the  man  for 
\vliom  she  had  gladly  risked  want  and 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


poverty,  the  displeasure  of  her  own 
people,  almost  half  a  century  ago. 
Now  at  last  she  could  point  him  out  to 
all  her  little  world  and  say,  "See,  he 
gives  me  the  red  side  of  the  apple!" 
She  lifted  her  eyes,  two  bright  sap 
phires  swimming  with  the  diamond 
dew  of  unshed,  happy  tears. 

"I  'm  a-thinkin',  Father,"  she  twit 
tered,  "that  naow  me  an'  yew  be 
a-gwine  so  fur  apart,  we  be  a-gittin' 
closer  tergether  in  sperit  than  we  've 
ever  been  afore." 

Abe  bent  down  stiffly  to  brush  her 
cheek  with  his  rough  beard,  and  then, 
awkward,  as  when  a  boy  of  sixteen  he 
had  first  kissed  her,  shy,  ashamed  at 
this  approach  to  a  return  of  the  old- 
time  love-making,  he  seated  himself  at 
the  small,  bare  table. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


This  warped,  hill-and-dale  table 
of  the  drop-leaves,  which  had  been 
brought  from  the  attic  only  to-day 
after  resting  there  for  ten  years,  had 
served  as  their  first  dining-table  when 
the  honeymoon  was  young.  Abe 
thoughtfully  drummed  his  hand  on  the 
board,  and  as  Angy  brought  the  teapot 
and  sat  down  opposite  him,  he  recalled : 

"We  had  bread  an'  tea  an'  apple- 
sass  the  day  we  set  up  housekeeping 
dew  yew  remember,  Angy  ?" 

"An*  I  burned  the  apple-sass,"  she 
supplemented,  whereupon  Abe  chuck 
led,  and  Angy  went  on  with  a  thrill  of 
genuine  gladness  over  the  fact  that  he 
remembered  the  details  of  that  long- 
ago  honeymoon  as  well  as  she:  "Yew 
don't  mind  havin'  no  butter  to-night, 
dew  yer,  Father?" 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


He  recalled  how  he  had  said  to  her 
at  that  first  simple  home  meal:  "Yew 
don't  mind  bein'  poor  with  me,  dew 
yer,  Angy?"  Now,  with  a  silent  shake 
of  his  head,  he  stared  at  her,  wonder 
ing  how  it  would  seem  to  eat  at  table 
when  her  face  no  longer  looked  at  him 
across  the  board,  to  sleep  at  night  when 
her  faithful  hand  no  longer  lay  within 
reach  of  his  own.  She  lifted  her  tea 
cup,  he  lifted  his,  the  two  gazing  at 
each  other  over  the  brims,  both  half- 
distressed,  half-comforted  by  the  fact 
that  Love  still  remained  their  toast- 
master  after  the  passing  of  all  the 
years.  Of  a  sudden  Angy  exclaimed, 
"We  fergot  ter  say  grace."  Shocked 
and  contrite,  they  covered  their  eyes 
with  their  trembling  old  hands  and 
murmured  together,  "Dear  Lord,  we 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


thank   Thee   this   day   for   our   daily 
bread." 

Angy  opened  her  eyes  to  find  the  red 
roses  cheerfully  facing  her  from  the 
back  of  the  rocking-chair.  A  robin 
had  hopped  upon  the  window-sill  just 
outside  the  patched  and  rusty  screen 
and  was  joyfully  caroling  to  her  his 
views  of  life.  Through  the  window 
vines  in  which  the  bird  was  almost 
meshed  the  sunlight  sifted  softly  into 
the  stripped,  bare,  and  lonely  room. 
Angy  felt  strangely  encouraged  and 
comforted.  The  roses  became  sym 
bolical  to  her  of  the  "lilies  of  the  field 
which  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin"; 
the  robin  was  one  of  the  "two  sparrows 
sold  for  a  farthing,  and  one  of  them 
shall  not  fall  to  the  ground  without 
your  Father";  while  the  sunlight 


THE  TEA-TABLE 


seemed  to  call  out  to  the  little  old  lady 
who  hoped  and  believed  and  loved" 
much :  'Tear  ye  not  therefor.  Ye  are 
of  more  value  than  many  sparrows!" 


II 

"GOOD-BY" 

WHEN  the  last  look  of  parting  had 
been  given  to  the  old  kitchen 
and  the  couple  passed  out-of-doors, 
hushed  and  trembling,  they  presented 
an  incongruously  brave,  gala-day  ap 
pearance.  Both  were  dressed  in  their 
best.  To  be  sure,  Abraham's  Sunday 
suit  had  long  since  become  his  only, 
every-day  suit  as  well,  but  he  wore  his 
Sabbath-day  hat,  a  beaver  of  ancient 
design,  with  an  air  that  cast  its  reflec 
tion  over  all  his  apparel.  Angeline  had 
on  a  black  silk  gown  as  shiny  as  the 
freshly  polished  stove  she  was  leaving 


"GOOD-BY" 


in  her  kitchen— a  gown  which  testified 
from  its  voluminous  hem  to  the  soft 
yellow  net  at  the  throat  that  Angeline 
was  as  neat  a  mender  and  darner  as 
could  be  found  in  Suffolk  county. 

A  black  silk  bonnet  snuggled  close 
to  her  head,  from  under  its  brim  peep 
ing  a  single  pink  rose.  Every  spring 
for  ten  years  Angeline  had  renewed 
the  youth  of  this  rose  by  treating  its 
petals  with  the  tender  red  dye  of  a 
budding  oak. 

Under  the  pink  rose,  a  soft  pink 
flush  bloomed  on  either  of  the  old 
lady's  cheeks.  Her  eyes  flashed  with  un 
conquerable  pride,  and  her  square,  firm 
chin  she  held  very  high;  for  now,  in 
deed,  she  was  filled  with  terror  of  what 
"folks  would  say"  to  this  home-leav 
ing,  and  it  was  a  bright  June  after- 

c  233 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


noon,  too  clear  for  an  umbrella  with 
which  to  hide  one's  face  from  prying 
neighbors,  too  late  in  the  day  for  a  sun 
shade. 

Angy  tucked  the  green-black  affair 
which  served  them  as  both  under  her 
arm  and  swung  Abe's  figured  old 
carpet-bag  in  her  hand  with  the  man 
ner  of  one  setting  out  on  a  pleasant 
journey.  Abe,  though  resting  heavily 
on  his  stout,  crooked  cane,  dragged  be 
hind  him  Angy's  little  horsehair  trunk 
upon  a  creaking,  old,  unusually  large, 
toy  express-wagon  which  he  had 
bought  at  some  forgotten  auction  long 
ago. 

The  husband  and  wife  passed  into 
the  garden  between  borders  of  box 
wood,  beyond  which  nodded  the  heads 
of  Angy's  carefully  tended,  out-door 


"GOOD-BY" 

"children" — her  roses,  her  snowballs, 
her  sweet-smelling  syringas,  her  wax- 
like  bleeding-hearts,  and  her  shrub  of 
bridal-wreath. 

"Jest  a  minute,"  she  murmured,  as 
Abe  would  have  hastened  on  to  the 
gate.  She  bent  her  proud  head  and 
kissed  with  furtive,  half-ashamed  pas 
sion  a  fluffy  white  spray  of  the  bridal- 
wreath.  Now  overtopping  the  hus 
band's  silk  hat,  the  shrub  had  not  come 
so  high  as  his  knee  when  they  two 
had  planted  it  nearly  a  half-century 
ago. 

"You  're  mine !"  Angy's  heart  cried 
out  to  the  shrub  and  to  every  growing 
thing  in  the  garden.  "You  're  mine. 
I  planted  you,  tended  you,  loved  you 
into  growing.  You  're  all  the  children 
I  ever  had,  and  I  'm  leaving  you." 

[25] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


But  the  old  wife  did  not  pluck  a  single 
flower,  for  she  could  never  be'ar  to  see 
a  blossom  wither  in  her  hand,  while  all 
she  said  aloud  was :  "I  'm  glad  't  was 
Mis'  Holmes  that  bought  in  the  house. 
They  say  she  's  a  great  hand  ter  dig 
in  the  garden." 

Angy's  voice  faltered.  Abe  did  not 
answer.  Something  had  caused  a 
swimming  before  his  eyes  which  he  did 
not  wish  his  wife  to  see;  so  he  let  fall 
the  handle  of  the  express-wagon  and, 
bending  his  slow  back,  plucked  a  sprig 
of  "old-man."  Though  he  could  not 
have  expressed  his  sentiments  in 
words,  the  garden  brought  poignant 
recollections  of  the  hopes  and  promises 
which  had  thrown  their  rose  color 
about  the  young  days  of  his  marriage. 
His  hopes  had  never  blossomed  into 


"GOOD-BY" 

fulfilment.  His  promises  to  the  little 
wife  had  been  choked  by  the  weeds  of 
his  own  inefficiency.  Worse  than  this, 
the  bursting  into  bloom  of  seeds  of 
selfish  recklessness  in  himself  was 
what  had  turned  the  garden  of  their 
life  into  an  arid  waste.  And  now,  in 
their  dry  and  withered  old  age,  he  and 
Angy  were  being  torn  up  by  the  roots, 
flung  as  so  much  rubbish  by  the  road 
side. 

"Mother,  I  be  dretful  sorry  ter  take 
yew  away  from  your  posies,"  muttered 
Abraham  as  he  arose  with  his  green 
sprig  in  his  hand. 

With  shaking  fingers,  Angy  sought 
a  pin  hidden  beneath  her  basque. 
"Father,  shall  I  pin  yer  'old-man'  in 
yer  buttonhole?"  she  quavered.  Then 
as  he  stooped  for  her  to  arrange  the 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


posy,  she  whispered:  "I  would  n't  care, 
'cept  fer  what  folks  must  say.  Le*  's 
hurry  before  any  one  sees  us.  I  told 
everybody  that  we  wa'n't  a-gwine  ter 
break  up  till  ter-morrer  morninV 

Fortunately,  there  was  a  way  across 
lots  to  the  Old  Ladies'  Home,  an  un 
frequented  by-path  over  a  field  and 
through  a  bit  of  woodland,  which 
would  bring  the  couple  almost  unob 
served  to  a  side  gate. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances,  An- 
gelinc  would  never  have  taken  this 
path;  for  it  exposed  her  carefully 
patched  and  newly  polished  shoes  to 
scratches,  her  fragile,  worn  silk  skirt 
and  stiff,  white  petticoat  to  brambles. 
Moreover,  the  dragging  of  the  loaded 
little  wagon  was  more  difficult  here  for 
Abraham.  But  they  both  preferred 
[28] 


"GOOD- BY' 

the  narrower,  rougher  way  to  facing 
the  curious  eyes  of  all  Shoreville  now, 
the  pitying  windows  of  the  village 
street. 

As  the  couple  came  to  the  edge  of 
the  woodland,  they  turned  with  one  ac 
cord  and  looked  back  for  the  last 
glimpse  of  the  home.  Blazing  gold- 
red  against  the  kitchen  window  flamed 
the  afternoon  sunlight. 

"Look  a'  that !"  Angy  cried  eagerly, 
as  one  who  beholds  a  promise  in  the 
skies.  "Jest  see,  Father;  we  could  n't 
V  made  out  that  winder  this  fur  at  all 
ef'the  sun  had  n't  struck  it  jest  so.  I 
declar'  it  seems  almost  as  ef  we  could 
see  the  rocker,  tew.  It 's  tew  bad,  Abe, 
that  we  had  ter  let  yer  old  rocker  go. 
D'  yew  remember—  ?"  She  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  and  lifted  her  gaze, 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


growing  clouded  and  wistful,  to  his 
face.  "When  we  bought  the  chair,  we 
thought  mebbe  some  day  I  'd  be  rocking 
a  leetle  baby  in  it.  'T  was  then,  yew 
ricollec',  we  sorter  got  in  the  habit  of 
callin'  each  other  'father'  an'  'mother.' 
I  wonder  ef  the  young  'uns  had 
come—" 

"Le'  's  hurry,"  interrupted  Abe  al 
most  gruffly.  "Le'  's  hurry." 

They  stumbled  forward  with  bowed 
heads  in  silence,  until  of  a  sudden  they 
were  startled  by  a  surprised  hail  of 
recognition,  and  looked  up  to  find 
themselves  confronted  by  a  bent  and 
gray  old  man,  a  village  character,  a 
harmless,  slightly  demented  public 
charge  known  as  "Ishmael"  or  "Cap 
tain  Rover." 

"Whar  yew  goin',  Cap'n  Rose?" 


"GOOD-BY" 

The  old  couple  had  drawn  back  at 
the  sight  of  the  gentle  vagabond,  and 
Angy  clutched  at  her  husband's  arm, 
her  heart  contracting  at-  the  thought 
that  he,  too,  had  become  a  pauper. 

"I  'm  a-takin'  my  wife  ter  jine  the 
old  ladies  over  thar  ter  the  Hum,"  Abe 
answered,  and  would  have  passed  on, 
shrinking  from  the  sight  of  himself  as 
reflected  in  poor  Ishmael. 

But  the  "innocent"  placed  himself  in 
their  path. 

"Yew  ain't  a-goin'  ter  jine  'em, 
tew?"  he  bantered. 

Abe  forced  a  laugh  to  his  lips  in  re 
sponse. 

"No,  no;  I  'm  goin'  over  ter  Yap- 
hank  ter  board  on  the  county." 

Again  the  couple  would  have  passed 
on,  their  faces  flushed,  their  eyes  low- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


ered,  had  not  Ishmael  flung  out  one 
hand  to  detain  them  while  he  plunged 
the  other  hurriedly  into  his  pocket. 

"Here."  He  drew  out  a  meager  hand 
ful  of  nickels  and  pennies,  his  vacant 
smile  grown  wistful.  "Here,  take  it, 
Cap'n  Rose.  It  's  all  I  got.  I  can't 
count  it  myself,  but  yew  can.  Don't 
yew  think  it  's  enough  ter  set  yew  up 
in  business,  so  yew  won't  have  ter  go 
ter  the  poorhouse?  The  poorhouse  is 
a  bad  place.  I  was  there  last  winter. 
I  don't  like  the  poorhouse." 

He  rambled  on  of  the  poorhouse. 
Angy,  panting  for  breath,  one  hand 
against  the  smothering  pain  at  her 
heart,  was  trying,  with  the  other,  to 
drag  "Father"  along.  "Father"  was 
shaking  his  head  at  Ishmael,  at  the 
proffered  nickels  and  pennies— shaking 


"GOOD-BY" 

his  head  and  choking.  At  length  he 
found  his  voice,  and  was  able  to  smile 
at  his  would-be  benefactor  with  even 
the  ghost  of  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Much  obliged,  Cap'n  Rover;  but 
yew  keep  yer  money  fer  terbaccy.  I 
ain't  so  high-toned  as  yew.  I  '11  take 
real  comfort  at  the  poorhouse.  S'  long ; 
thank  yer.  S'  long." 

Ishmael  went  on  his  way  muttering 
to  himself,  unhappily  jingling  his  re 
jected  alms;  while  Angy  and  Abe  re 
sumed  their  journey. 

As  they  came  to  the  gate  of  the  Old 
Ladies'  Home,  Angy  seized  hold  of  her 
husband's  arm,  and  looking  up  into  his 
face  pleaded  earnestly : 

"Father,  let  's  take  the  hunderd  dol 
lars  fer  a  fambly  tombstun  an'  go  ter 
the  poorhouse  tergether !" 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


He  shook  her  off  almost  roughly  and 
lifted  the  latch  of  the  gate. 

"Folks  'd  say  we  was  crazy,  Mother." 

There  was  no  one  in  sight  as  he 
dragged  in  the  express-cart  and  laid 
down  the  handle.  Before  him  was  a 
long,  clean-swept  path  ending  appar 
ently  in  a  mass  of  shrubbery;  to  the 
left  was  a  field  of  sweet  corn  reaching 
to  the  hedge ;  to  the  right  a  strong  and 
sturdy  growth  of  pole  lima  beans ;  and 
just  within  the  entrance,  beneath  the 
sweeping  plumes  of  a  weeping-willow 
tree,  was  a  shabby  but  inviting  green 
bench. 

Abe's  glance  wandered  from  the 
bench  to  his  wife's  face.  Angy  could 
not  lift  her  eyes  to  him;  with  bowed 
head  she  was  latching  and  unlatching 
the  gate  through  which  he  must  pass. 


"GOOD-BY" 

He  looked  at  the  sun  and  thoughtfully 
made  reckon  of  the  time.  There  were 
still  two  hours  before  he  could  take  the 
train  which— 

"Let 's  go  set  deown  a  spell  afore—" 
he  faltered— "afore  we  say  good-by." 

She  made  no  answer.  She  told  her 
self  over  and  over  that  she  must — 
simply  must— stop  that  "all-of-a-trem- 
ble"  feeling  which  was  going  on  inside 
of  her.  She  stepped  from  the  gate  to 
the  bench  blindly,  with  Abe's  hand  on 
her  arm,  though,  still  blindly,  with 
exaggerated  care  she  placed  his  carpet 
bag  on  the  grass  beside  her. 

He  laid  down  his  cane,  took  off  his 
high  hat  and  wiped  his  brow.  He 
looked  at  her  anxiously.  Still  she  could 
not  lift  her  blurred  eyes,  nor  could  she 
check  her  trembling. 

C3S3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Seeing  how  she  shook,  he  passed  his 
arm  around  her  shoulder.  He  mur 
mured  something — what,  neither  he 
nor  she  knew — but  the  love  of  his 
youth  spoke  in  the  murmur,  and  again 
fell  the  silence. 

Angy's  eyes  cleared.  She  struggled 
to  speak,  aghast  at  the  thought  that 
life  itself  might  be  done  before  ever 
they  could  have  one  hour  together 
again ;  but  no  words  came.  So  much— 
so  much  to  say!  She  reached  out  her 
hand  to  where  his  rested  upon  his  knee. 
Their  fingers  gripped,  and  each  felt  a 
sense  of  dreary  cheer  to  know  that  the 
touch  was  speaking  what  the  tongue 
could  not  utter. 

Time  passed  swiftly.  The  silent 
hour  sped  on.  The  young  blades  of 
corn  gossiped  gently  along  the  field. 

r.363 


"GOOD-BY" 

Above,  the  branches  of  the  willow 
swished  and  swayed  to  the  rhythm  of 
the  soft,  south  wind. 

"How  still,  how  still  it  is!"  whis 
pered  the  breeze. 

"Rest,  rest,  rest!"  was  the  lullaby 
swish  of  the  willow. 

The  old  wife  nestled  closer  to  Abra 
ham  until  her  head  touched  his  shoul 
der.  He  laid  his  cheek  against  her  hair 
and  the  carefully  preserved  old  bonnet. 
Involuntarily  she  raised  her  hand, 
trained  by  the  years  of  pinching  econ 
omy,  to  lift  the  fragile  rose  into  a  safer 
position.  He  smiled  at  her  action; 
then  his  arm  closed  about  her  spas 
modically  and  he  swallowed  a  lump  in 
his  throat. 

The  afternoon  was  waning.  Grad 
ually  over  the  turmoil  of  their  hearts 

C37] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


stole  the  garden's  June-time  spirit  of 
drowsy  repose. 

They  leaned  even  closer  to  each 
other.  The  gray  of  the  old  man's  hair 
mingled  with  the  gray  beneath  Ange- 
line's  little  bonnet.  Slowly  his  eyes 
closed.  Then  even  as  Angy  wondered 
who  would  watch  over  the  slumbers  of 
his  worn  old  age  in  the  poorhouse,  she, 
too,  fell  asleep. 


[383 


Ill 

THE    CANDIDATE 

THE  butcher's  boy  brought  the  tid 
ings  of  the  auction  sale  in  at  the 
kitchen  door  of  the  Old  Ladies'  Home 
even  while  Angy  and  Abe  were  linger 
ing  over  their  posies,  and  the  inmates 
of  the  Home  were  waiting  to  receive 
the  old  wife  with  the  greater  sympathy 
and  the  deeper  spirit  of  welcome  from 
the  fact  that  two  of  the  twenty-nine 
members  had  known  her  from  girl 
hood,  away  back  in  the  boarding-school 
days. 

"Yop,"  said  the  boy,  with  one  eye 

L'393 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

upon  the  stout  matron,  who  was  criti 
cally  examining  the  meat  that  he  had 
brought.  "Yop,  the  auction 's  over,  an' 
Cap'n  Rose,  he—  Don't  that  cut  suit 
you,  Miss  Abigail?  You  won't  find  a 
better,  nicer,  tenderer,  and  more  juicier 
piece  of  shoulder  this  side  of  New 
York.  Take  it  back,  did  you  say  ?  All 
right,  ma'am,  all  right !"  His  face  as 
sumed  a  look  of  resignation:  these  old 
ladies  made  his  life  a  martyrdom.  He 
used  to  tell  the  "fellers"  that  he  spent 
one  half  his  time  carrying  orders 
back  and  forth  from  the  Old  Ladies' 
Home.  But  now,  in  spite  of  his 
meekness  of  manner,  he  did  not  in 
tend  to  take  this  cut  back.  So  with 
Machiavellian  skill  he  hastened  on  with 
his  gossip. 

"Yop,  an'  they  only  riz  one  hundred 

C40H 


THE  CANDIDATE 


dollars  an'  two  cents — one  hundred 
dollars  an'  a  postage-stamp.  I  guess 
it  's  all  up  with  the  cap'n  an'  the  Old 
Men's.  I  don't  see  'em  hangin'  out  no 
'Welcome'  sign  on  the  strength  of 
that." 

"You  're  a  horrid,  heartless  little 
boy!"  burst  forth  Miss  Abigail,  and, 
flinging  the  disputed  meat  on  the  table, 
she  sank  down  into  the  chair,  com 
pletely  overcome  by  sorrow  and  indig 
nation.  "You  '11  be  old  yerself  some 
day,"  she  sobbed,  not  noticing  that  he 
was  stealthily  edging  toward  the  door, 
one  eye  on  her,  one  on  to-morrow's  pot- 
roast  "I  tell  yew,  Tommy,"  regaining 
her  accustomed  confiding  amiability, 
as  she  lifted  the  corner  of  her  apron 
to  wipe  her  eyes,  "Miss  Ellie  will  feel 
some  kind  o'  bad,  tew.  Yer  know  me 
C4I] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


an'  her  an'  Angy  all  went  ter  school 
tergether,  although  Miss  Ellie  is  so 
much  younger  'n  the  rest  o'  us  that  we 
call  her  the  baby.  Here!  Where—" 

But  he  was  gone.  Sighing  heavily, 
the  matron  put  the  meat  in  the 
ice-box,  and  then  made  her  slow, 
lumbering  way  into  the  front  hall,  or 
community-room,  where  the  sisters 
were  gathered  in  a  body  to  await  the 
new  arrival. 

"Waal,  say!''  she  supplemented, 
after  she  had  finished  telling  her  pitia 
bly  brief  story,  "thar  's  trouble  ernough 
ter  go  'round,  hain't  thar  ?" 

Aunt  Nancy  Smith,  who  never  be 
lieved  in  wearing  her  heart  on  her 
sleeve,  sniffed  and  thumped  her  cane 
on  the  floor. 

"Yew  young   folks,"  she  affirmed, 


THE  CANDIDATE 


herself  having  seen  ninety-nine  win 
ters,  while  Abigail  had  known  but  a 
paltry  sixty-five,  "yew  allers  go  an'  cut 
yer  pity  on  the  skew-gee.  I  don't  see 
nothin'  ter  bawl  an'  beller  erbout.  I 
say  that  any  man  what  can't  take  kere 
o'  himself,  not  ter  mention  his  wife, 
should  orter  go  ter  the  poorhouse." 

But  the  matriarch's  voice  quavered 
even  more  than  usual,  and  as  she  fin 
ished  she  hastily  bent  down  and  felt  in 
her  deep  skirt-pocket  for  her  snuff-box. 

Now  the  Amazonian  Mrs.  Homan, 
a  widow  for  the  third  time,  made 
sturdy  retort : 

'That  's  jest  like  yew  old  maids— 
always  a-blamin'  the  men.     Yew  kin 
jest  bet  I  never  would  have  let  one  of 
my  husbands  go  ter  the  poorhouse.    It 
would  have  mortified  me  dretful.     It 

C43] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  3; 


must  be  a  purty  poor  sort  of  a  woman 
what  can't  take  care  of  one  man  and 
keep  a  roof  over  his  head.  Why,  my 
second,  Oliver  G.,  used  ter  say— 

"Oh !"  Miss  Ellie  wrung  her  hands, 
"can't  we  do  somethin'  ?" 

"I  could  do  a-plenty/'  mourned  Miss 
Abigail,  "ef  I  only  had  been  savin'. 
Here  I  git  a  salary  o'  four  dollars  a 
month,  an'  not  one  penny  laid  away." 

"Yew  fergit,"  spoke  some  one  gen 
tly,  "that  it  takes  consid'able  ter  dress 
a  matron  proper." 

Aunt  Nancy,  who  had  been  sneezing 
furiously  at  her  own  impotence,  now 
found  her  speech  again. 

"We  're  a  nice  set  ter  talk  erbout 
clewin'  somethin' — a  passel  o'  poor  ole 
critters  like  us!"  Her  cackle  of  em 
bittered  laughter  was  interrupted  by 
£443 


THE  CANDIDATE 


the  low,  cultivated  voice  of  the  belle  of 
the  Home,  "Butterfly  Blossy." 

"We  've  got  to  do  something,"  said 
Blossy  firmly. 

When  Blossy  spoke  with  such  deci 
sion,  every  one  of  the  sisters  pricked 
up  her  ears.  Blossy  might  be  "a 
shaller-pate" ;  she  might  arrange  the 
golden-white  hair  of  her  head  as  be 
fitted  the  crowning  glory  of  a  young 
girl,  with  puffs  and  rolls  and  little 
curls,  and— more  than  one  sister  sus 
pected—with  the  aid  of  "rats";  she 
might  gown  herself  elaborately  in  the 
mended  finery  of  the  long  ago,  the  bet 
ter  years;  she  might  dress  her  lovely 
big  room — the  only  double  bedchamber 
in  the  house,  for  which  she  had  paid  a 
double  entrance  fee — in  all  sorts  of 
gewgaws,  little  ornaments,  hand- 
C453 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


painted  plaques  of  her  own  producing, 
lace  bedspreads,  embroidered  splashers 
and  pillow-shams ;  she  might  even  per 
mit  herself  a  suitor  who  came  twice  a 
year  more  punctually  than  the  line- 
storms,  to  ask  her  withered  little  hand 
in  marriage— but  her  heart  was  in  the 
right  place,  and  on  occasion  she  had 
proved  herself  a  master  hand  at  "fixin' 
things." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  rising  to  her  feet 
and  flinging  out  her  arms  with  an  elo 
quent  gesture,  "we  Ve  got  to  do  some 
thing,  and  there  's  just  one  thing  to  do, 
girls:  take  the  captain  right  here— 
here" — she  brought  her  hands  to  the 
laces  on  her  bosom — "to  our  hearts!" 

At  first  there  was  silence,  with  the 
ladies  staring  blankly  at  Blossy  and 
then  at  one  another.  Had  they  heard 

[463 


THE   CANDIDATE 


aright?  Then  there  came  murmurs 
and  exclamations,  with  Miss  Abigail's 
voice  gasping  above  the  others : 

"What  would  the  directors  say?" 

''What  do  they  always  say  when  we 
ask  a  favor?"  demanded  Blossy. 
"'How  much  will  it  cost?'  It  won't 
cost  a  cent." 

"Won't,  eh?"  snapped  Aunt  Nancy. 
"How  on  arth  be  yew  goin'  ter  vittle 
him  ?  I  hain't  had  a  second  dish  o'  peas 
this  year." 

"Some  men  eat  more  an'  some  less," 
remarked  Sarah  Jane,  as  ill-favored  a 
spinster  as  ever  the  sun  shone  on; 
"generally  it  means  so  much  grub  ter 
so  much  weight." 

Miss  Abigail  glanced  up  at  the  ceil 
ing,  while  Lazy  Daisy,  who  had  re 
fused  to  tip  the  beam  for  ten  years, 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


surreptitiously  hid  an  apple  into  which 
she  had  been  biting. 

"Le'  's  have  'em  weighed,"  sug 
gested  a  widow,  Ruby  Lee,  with  a 
pretty,  well-preserved  little  face  and 
figure,  "an1  ef  tergether  they  don't 
come  up  to  the  heartiest  one  of  us— 

Miss  Abigail  made  hasty  interrup 
tion: 

"Gals,  hain't  yew  never  noticed  that 
the  more  yew  need  the  more  yew  git? 
Before  Jenny  Bell  went  to  live  with  her 
darter  I  did  n't  know  what  I  should 
dew,  for  the  taters  was  gittin'  pooty 
low.  Yew  know  she  used  ter  eat  twenty 
ter  a  meal  an'  then  look  hungry  at  the 
platter.  An'  then  ef  old  Square  Ely 
did  n't  come  a-drivin'  up  one  mornin' 
with  ten  bushel  in  the  farm  wagon! 
He  'd  been  savin'  'em  fer  us  all  winter 
[48] 


THE   CANDIDATE 


fer  fear  we  might  run  short  in  the 
spring.  Gals,  thar  's  one  thing  yew  kin 
depend  on,  the  foresightedness  of 
the  Lord.  I  hain't  afraid  ter  risk 
a-stretchin'  the  board  an'  keep  o'  thirty 
ter  pervide  ample  fer  thirty-one. 
Naow,  haow  many  of  yew  is  willin'  ter 
try  it?" 

Every  head  nodded,  "I  am";  every 
eye  was  wet  with  the  dew  of  merciful 
kindness ;  and  Mrs.  Homan  and  Sarah 
Jane,  who  had  flung  plates  at  each 
other  only  that  morning,  were  ob 
served  to  be  holding  hands. 

"But  haow  on  arth  be  we  a-goin'  ter 
sleep  him?"  proceeded  the  matron  un 
easily.  "Thar  hain't  a  extry  corner  in 
the  hull  place.  Puttin'  tew  people  in 
No.  30  is  out  of  the  question — it  's  jest 
erbout  the  size  of  a  Cinderella  shoe- 

1:49:1 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


box,  anyhow,  an'  the  garret  leaks- 
She  paused,  for  Blossy  was  pulling 
at  her  sleeve,  the  real  Blossy,  warm 
hearted,  generous,  self-deprecating. 

"I  think  No.  30  is  just  the  coziest 
little  place  for  one !  Do  let  me  take  it, 
Miss  Abigail,  and  give  the  couple  my 
great  big  barn  of  a  room." 

Aunt  Nancy  eyed  her  suspiciously. 
"Yew  ain't  a-gwine  ter  make  a  fool  o' 
yerself,  an1  jump  over  the  broomstick 
ag'in?"  For  Blossy's  old  suitor; 
Samuel  Darby,  had  made  one  of  his 
semiannual  visits  only  that  morning. 

The  belle  burst  into  hysterical  and 
self-conscious  laughter,  as  she  found 
every  glance  bent  upon  her. 

"Oh,  no,  no ;  not  that.  But  I  confess 
that  I  am  tired  to  death  of  this  per 
petual  dove-party.  I  just  simply  can't 


THE  CANDIDATE 


live  another  minute  without  a  man  in 
the  house. 

"Now,  Miss  Abigail,"  she  added  im 
periously,  "you  run  across  lots  and 
fetch  him  home." 


IV 

ONE    OF    THEM 

AH  !  but  Abraham  slept  that  night 
JTlL  as  if  he  had  been  drawn  to  rest 
under  the  compelling  shelter  of  the 
wings  of  all  that  flock  which  in  happier 
days  he  had  dubbed  contemptuously 
"them  air  old  hens."  Never  after 
ward  could  the  dazed  old  gentleman 
remember  how  he  had  been  persuaded 
to  come  into  the  house  and  up  the  stairs 
with  Angeline.  He  only  knew  that  in 
the  midst  of  that  heart-breaking  fare-, 
well  at  the  gate,  Miss  Abigail,  all  out 
of  breath  with  running,  red  in  the  face, 
but  exceedingly  hearty  of  manner,  had 
suddenly  appeared. 


ONE  OF  THEM 


"Shoo,  shoo,  shoo!"  this  stout  angel 
had  gasped.  "Naow,  Cap'n  Abe,  yew 
need  n't  git  narvous.  We  're  as  harm 
less  as  doves.  Run  right  erlong.  Yew 
won't  see  anybody  ter-night.  Don't 
say  a  word.  It  's  all  right.  Sssh! 
Shoo!"  And  then,  lo!  he  was  not  in 
the  County  Almshouse,  but  in  a  beau 
tiful  bright  bedchamber  with  a  wreath 
of  immortelles  over  the  mantel,  alone 
\vith  Angy. 

Afterward,  it  all  seemed  the  blur  of 
a  dream  to  him,  a  dream  which  ended 
when  he  had  found  his  head  upon  a 
cool,  white  pillow,  and  had  felt  glad, 
glad— dear  God,  how  glad!— to  know 
that  Angy  was  still  within  reach  of  his 
outstretched  hand ;  and  so  he  had  fallen 
asleep.  But  when  he  awoke  in  the 
morning,  there  stood  Angeline  in  front 

[533 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


of  the  glass  taking  her  hair  out  of  curl 
papers;  and  then  he  slowly  began  to 
realize  the  tremendous  change  that 
had  come  into  their  lives,  when  his  wife 
committed  the  unprecedented  act  of 
taking  her  crimps  out  before  break 
fast.  He  realized'  that  they  were  to 
eat  among  strangers.  He  had  become 
the  guest  of  thirty  "women-folks." 
No  doubt  he  should  be  called  "Old  Gal 
Thirty-one."  He  got  up  and  dressed 
very,  very  slowly.  The  bewildered 
gratitude,  the  incredulous  thanksgiv 
ing  of  last  night,  were  as  far  away  as 
yesterday's  sunset.  A  great  serious 
ness  settled  upon  Abe's  lean  face.  At 
last  he  burst  forth : 

"One  to  thirty !    Hy-guy,  I  'm  in  fer 
it!"     How  had  it  happened,  he  won 
dered.    They  had  given  him  no  time  to 
C54] 


ONE  OF  THEM 


think.  They  had  swooped  down  upon 
him  when'  his  brain  was  dulled  with 
anguish.  Virtually,  they  had  kid 
napped  him.  Why  had  they  brought 
him  here  to  accept  charity  of  a  women's 
institution?  Why  need  they  thus  in 
tensify  his  sense  of  shame  at  his  life's 
failure,  and,  above  all,  at  his  failure  to 
provide  for  Angeline?  In  the  poor- 
house  he  would  have  been  only  one 
more  derelict;  but  here  he  stood  alone 
to  be  stared  at  and  pitied  and  thrown  a 
sickly-satisfying  crumb.  With  a  sigh 
from  the  very  cellar  of  his  being,  he 
muttered : 

"Aye,  Mother,  why  did  n't  yew  let 
me  go  on  ter  the  County  House  ?  That 
air  's  the  place  fer  a  worn-out  old  hull 
like  me.  Hy-guy!"  he  ejaculated, 
beads  of  sweat  standing  out  on  his 

C5S3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

forehead,  "I  'd  ruther  lay  deown  an' 
die  th'n  face  them  air  women." 

"Thar,  thar!"  soothingly  spoke 
Angy,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
'Thar,  thar,  Father !  Jest  think  haow 
dretful  I  'd  feel  a-goin'  deown  without 
yer." 

"So  you  would!"  strangely  com 
forted.  "So  you  would,  my  dear!" 
For  her  sake  he  tried  to  brighten  up. 
He  joked  clumsily  as  they  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  chamber,  whispering, 
blinking  his  eyes  to  make  up  for  the 
lack  of  their  usually  ready  twinkle. 

"Hoi'  on  a  minute;  supposin'  I  fergit 
whether  I  be  a  man  er  a  woman?" 

Her  love  gave  inspiration  to  her  an 
swer:  "I  '11  lean  on  yer,  Abe." 

Just  then  there  came  the  loud,  im 
perative  clanging  of  the  breakfast- 


ONE  OF  THEM 


bell;  and  she  urged  him  to  hurry,  as 
"it  would  n't  dew"  for  them  to  be  late 
the  first  morning  of  all  times.  But  he 
only  answered  by  going  back  into  the 
room  to  make  an  anxious  survey  of  his 
reflection  in  the  glass.  He  shook  his 
head  reprovingly  at  the  bearded  coun 
tenance,  as  if  to  say:  "You  need  not 
pride  yourself  any  longer  on  looking 
like  Abraham  Lincoln,  for  you  have 
been  turned  into  a  miserable  old 
woman." 

Picking  up  the  hair-brush,  he  held  it 
out  at  arm's  length  to  Angy.  "Won't 
yew  slick  up  my  hair  a  leetle  bit, 
Mother?"  he  asked,  somewhat  shame 
facedly.  "I  can't  see  extry  well  this 


mornin'.' 


"Why,  Abe !    It  's  slicked  ez  slick  ez 
it  kin  be  naow."     However,  the  old 

CS73 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


wife  reached  up  as  he  bent  his  tall,  an 
gular  form  over  her,  and  smoothed 
again  his  thin,  wet  locks.  He  laughed 
a  little,  self-mockingly,  and  she  laughed 
back,  then  urged  him  into  the  hall,  and, 
slipping  ahead,  led  the  way  down 
stairs.  At  the  first  landing,  which 
brought  them  into  full  view  of  the 
lower  hall,  he  paused,  possessed  with 
the  mad  desire  to  run  away  and  hide, 
for  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway  stood 
the  entire  flock  of  old  ladies.  Twenty- 
nine  pairs  of  eyes  were  lifted  to  him 
and  Angy,  twenty-nine  pairs  of  lips 
were  smiling  at  them.  To  the  end  of 
his  days  Abraham  remembered  those 
smiles.  Reassuring,  unselfish,  and 
tender,  they  made  the  old  man's  heart 
swell,  his  emotions  go  warring  to 
gether. 

C583 


ONE  OF  THEM 


He  wondered,  was  grateful,  yet  he 
grew  more  confused  and  afraid.  He 
stared  amazed  at  Angeline,  who 
seemed  the  embodiment  of  self-posses 
sion,  lifting  her  dainty,  proud  little 
gray  head  higher  and  higher.  She 
turned  to  Abraham  with  a  protecting, 
motherly  little  gesture  of  command  for 
him  to  follow,  and  marched  gallantly 
on  down  the  stairs.  Humbly,  trem 
bling  at  the  knees,  he  came  with  gin 
gerly  steps  after  the  little  old  wife. 
How  unworthy  he  was  of  her  now! 
How  unworthy  he  had  always  been, 
yet  never  realized  to  the  full  until  this 
moment.  He  knew  what  those  smiles 
meant,  he  told  himself,  watching  the 
uplifted  faces;  they  were  to  soothe  his 
sense  of  shame  and  humiliation,  to 
touch  with  rose  this  dull  gray  color  of 

C593 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

the  culmination  of  his  failures.  He 
passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  fiercely 
praying  that  the  tears  might  not  come 
to  add  to  his  disgrace. 

And  all  the  while  brave  little  Angy 
kept  smiling,  until  with  a  truly  glad 
leap  of  the  heart  she  caught  sight  of 
a  blue  ribbon  painted  in  gold  shining 
on  the  breast  of  each  one  of  the  twenty- 
nine  women.  A  pale  blue  ribbon 
painted  in  gold  with— yes,  peering  her 
eyes  she  discovered  that  it  was  the 
word  "WELCOME!"  The  forced  smile 
vanished  from  Angeline's  face.  Her 
eyes  grew  wet,  her  cheek  white.  Her 
proud  figure  shrank.  She  turned  and 
looked  back  at  her  husband.  Not  for 
one  instant  did  she  appropriate  the 
compliment  to  herself.  "This  is  for 
you!"  her  spirit  called  out  to  him,  while 


ONE  OF  THEM 


a  new  pride  dawned  in  her  working 
face. 

Forty  years  had  she  spent  apologiz 
ing  for  Abraham,  and  now  she  under 
stood  how  these  twenty-nine  generous 
old  hearts  had  raised  him  to  the  pedes 
tal  of  a  hero,  while  she  stood  a  heroine 
beside  him.  Angy  it  was  who  trembled 
now,  and  Abe,  gaining  a  manly  courage 
from  that,  took  hold  of  her  arm  to 
steady  her— they  had  paused  on  a  step 
near  the  foot  of  the  stairs— and,  look 
ing  around  with  his  whimsical  smile, 
he  demanded  of  the  bedecked  company 
in  general,  "Ladies,  be  yew  'spectin' 
the  President?" 

Cackle  went  the  cracked  old  voices  of 
the  twenty-nine  in  a  chorus  of  appre 
ciative  laughter,  while  the  old  heads 
bobbed  at  one  another  as  if  to  say, 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"Won't  he  be  an  acquisition?"  And 
then,  from  among  the  group  there 
came  forward  Blossy — Blossy,  who 
had  sacrificed  most  that  this  should 
come  to  pass ;  Blossy,  who  had  sat  till 
midnight  painting  the  gold-and-blue 
ribbons;  Blossy,  the  pride  and  beauty 
of  the  Home,  in  a  delicate,  old,  yellow, 
real  lace  gown.  She  held  her  two 
hands  gracefully  and  mysteriously  be 
hind  her  back  as  she  advanced  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  Looking  steadily 
into  Abraham's  eyes,  she  kept  a-smil- 
ing  until  he  felt  as  if  the  warmth  of 
a  belated  spring  had  beamed  upon 
him. 

"The  President!"  Her  mellow, 
well-modulated  voice  shook,  and  she 
laughed  with  a  mingling  of  generous 
joy  and  tender  pity.  "Are  we  expect- 

C62] 


ONE  OF  THEM 


ing  the  President?    You  dear  modest 
man !    We  are  welcoming— you!" 

Abe  looked  to  Angy  as  if  to  say, 
"How  shall  I  take  it?"  and  behold!  the 
miracle  of  his  wife's  bosom  swelling 
and  swelling  with  pride  in  him.  He 
turned  back,  for  Blossy  was  making  a 
speech.  His  hand  to  his  head,  he  bent 
his  good  ear  to  listen.  In  terms  poet 
ical  and  touching  she  described  the 
loneliness  of  the  life  at  the  Home  as  it 
had  been  with  no  man  under  the  roof 
of  the  house  and  only  a  deaf-and- 
dumb  gardener,  who  hated  her  sex,  in 
the  barn.  Then  in  contrast  she  painted 
life  as  it  must  be  for  the  sisters  now 
that  the  thirty  tender  vines  had  found  a 
stanch  old  oak  for  their  clinging.  "Me  ?" 
queried  Abraham  of  himself  and,  with 
another  silent  glance,  of  Angy. 

C63] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


But  what  was  this  ?  Blossy,  leading 
all  the  others  in  a  resounding  call  of 
"Welcome!"  and  then  Blossy  drawing 
her  two  hands  from  behind  her  back. 
One  held  a  huge  blue  cup,  the  other, 
the  saucer  to  match.  She  placed  the 
•cup  in  the  saucer  and  held  it  out  to 
Abraham.  He  trudged  down  the  few 
steps  to  receive  it,  unashamed  now  of 
the  tears  that  coursed  down  his  cheeks. 
With  a  burst  of  delight  he  perceived 
that  it  was  a  mustache  cup,  such  as  the 
one  he  had  always  used  at  home  until 
it  had  been  set  for  safe-keeping  on  the 
top  pantry  shelf  to  await  the  auction, 
where  it  had  brought  the  price  of 
eleven  cents  with  half  a  paper  of  tacks 
thrown  in. 

And  now  as  the  tears  cleared  away 
he  saw  also,  what  Angy's  eyes  had  al- 
[643 


ONE  OF  THEM 


ready  noted,  the  inscription  in  warm 
crimson  letters  on  the  shining  blue  side 
of  the  cup,  "To  Our  Beloved  Brother." 
"Sisters,"  he  mumbled,  for  he  could 
do  no  more  than  mumble  as  he  took  his 
gift,  "ef  yew  'd  been  gittin'  ready  fer 
me  six  months,  yew  could  n't  have 
done  no  better." 


165-2 


E 


V 

THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

VERYBODY    wore    their    com 


pany  manners  to  the  breakfast- 
table— the  first  time  in  the  whole 
history  of  the  Home  when  company 
manners  had  graced  the  initial  meal  of 
the  day.  Being  pleasant  at  supper  was 
easy  enough,  Aunt  Nancy  used  to  say, 
for  every  one  save  the  unreasonably 
cantankerous,  and  being  agreeable  at 
dinner  was  not  especially  difficult;  but 
no  one  short  of  a  saint  could  be  ex 
pected  to  smile  of  mornings  until  suffi 
cient  time  had  been  given  to  discover 
C66D 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

whether  one  had  stepped  out  on  the 
wrong  or  the  right  side  of  the  bed. 

This  morning,  however,  no  time  was 
needed  to  demonstrate  that  everybody 
in  the  place  had  gotten  out  on  the 
happy  side  of  his  couch.  Even  the 
deaf-and-dumb  gardener  had  un 
twisted  his  surly  temper,  and  as  Abra 
ham  entered  the  dining-room,  looked 
in  at  the  east  window  with  a  concilia 
tory  grin  and  nod  which  said  as  plainly 
as  words: 

'T  is  a  welcome  sight  indeed  to  see 
one  of  my  own  kind  around  this  estab 
lishment  !" 

"Why  don't  he  come  in  ?"  questioned 
Abe,  waving  back  a  greeting  as  well 
as  he  could  with  the  treasured  cup  in 
one  of  his  hands  and  the  saucer  in  the 
other;  whereupon  Sarah  Jane,  that 

C67] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


ugly  duckling,  explained  that  the  fel 
low,  being  a  confirmed  woman-hater, 
cooked  all  his  own  meals  in  the  smoke 
house,  and  insisted  upon  all  his  orders 
being  left  on  a  slate  outside  the  tool- 
house  door.  Abe  sniffed  disdainfully, 
contemplating  her  homely  counte 
nance,  over  which  this  morning's  mood 
had  cast  a  not  unlovely,  transforming 
glow. 

"Why,  the  scalawag!"  He  frowned 
so  at  the  face  in  the  window  that  it 
immediately  disappeared.  "Yew  don't 
mean  ter  tell  me  he  's  sot  ag'in'  yew 
gals?  He  must  be  crazy!  Sech  a 
handsome,  clever  set  o'  women  I  never 
did  see!" 

Sarah  Jane  blushed  to  the  roots  of 
her  thin,  straight  hair  and  sat  down, 
suddenly  disarmed  of  every  porcupine 
[68] 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

quill  that  she  had  hidden  under  her 
wings;  while  there  was  an  agreeable 
little  stir  among  the  sisters. 

"Set  deown,  all  hands !  Set  deown !" 
enjoined  Miss  Abigail,  fluttering  about 
with  the  heaviness  of  a  fat  goose. 
"Brother  Abe,  — that  's  what  we  've 
all  agreed  to  call  yew,  by  unanimous 
vote, — yew  set  right  here  at  the  foot 
of  the  table.  Aunt  Nancy  always  had 
the  head  an'  me  the  foot;  but  I  only 
kept  the  foot,  partly  becuz  thar  wa'n't 
no  man  fer  the  place,  an'  partly  becuz 
I  was  tew  sizable  ter  squeeze  in  any- 
whar  else.  Seein'  as  Sister  Angy  is 
sech  a  leetle  mite,  though,  I  guess  she 
kin  easy  make  room  fer  me  t*  other  side 
o'  her." 

Abe  could  only  bow  his  thanks  as  he 
put  his  gift  down  on  the  table  and  took 

£693 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


the  prominent  place  assigned  to  him. 
The  others  seated,  there  was  a  solemn 
moment  of  waiting  with  bowed  heads. 
Aunt  Nancy's  trembling  voice  arose, 
— the  voice  which  had  jealously 
guarded  the  right  of  saying  grace  at 
table  in  the  Old  Ladies'  Home  for 
twenty  years,— not,  however,  in  the 
customary  words  of  thanksgiving,  but 
in  a  peremptory  "Brother  Abe!" 

Abraham  looked  up.  Could  she  pos 
sibly  mean  that  he  was  to  establish 
himself  as  the  head  of  the  household 
by  repeating  grace?  "Brother  Abe!" 
she  called  upon  him  again.  "Yew  Ve 
.  askt  a  blessin'  f  er  one  woman  f  er  many 
a  year;  supposin'  neow  yew  ask  it  fer 
thirty!" 

Amid  the  amazement  of  the  other 
sisters,  Abe  mumbled,  and  muttered, 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

and  murmured— no  one  knew  what 
words;  but  all  understood  the  over 
whelming  gratitude  behind  his  inco- 
herency,  and  all  joined  heartily  in  the 
Amen.  Then,  while  Mrs.  Homan,  the 
cook  of  the  week,  went  bustling  out 
into  the  kitchen,  Aunt  Nancy  felt  that 
it  devolved  upon  her  to  explain  her  ac 
tion.  It  would  never  do,  she  thought, 
for  her  to  gain  a  reputation  for  self- 
effacement  and  sweetness  of  disposi 
tion  at  her  time  of  life. 

"Son,  I  want  yew  ter  understand 
one  thing  naow  at  the  start.  Yew  treat 
us  right,  an'  we  '11  treat  yew  right. 
That  's  all  we  ask  o'  vew.  Miss  Ellie. 
pass  the  radishes." 

"I  '11  do  my  best,"  Abe  hastened  to 
assure  her.  "Hy-guy,  that  coffee  smells 
some  kind  o'  good,  don't  it  ?  Between 
£71] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


the  smell  o'  the  stuff  an'  the  looks  o* 
my  cup,  it  '11  be  so  temptin'  that  I  '11 
wish  I  had  the  neck  of  a  gi-raffe,  an* 
could  taste  it  all  the  way  deown.  Angy, 
I  be  afraid  we  '11  git  the  gout  a-livin' 
so  high.  Look  at  this  here  cream !" 

Smiling,  appreciative,  his  lips  insist 
ing  upon  joking  to  cover  the  natural 
feeling  of  embarrassment  incident  to 
this  first  meal  among  the  sisters,  but 
with  his  voice  breaking  now  and  again 
with  emotion,  while  from  time  to  time 
he  had  to  steal  his  handkerchief  to  his 
old  eyes,  Abe  passed  successfully 
through  the— to  him — elaborate  break 
fast.  And  Angy  sat  in  rapt  silence, 
but  with  her  face  shining  so  that  her 
quiet  was  the  stillness  of  eloquence. 
Once  Abe  startled  them  all  by  rising 
stealthily  from  the  table  and  seizing 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

the  morning's  newspaper  which  lay 
upon  the  buffet. 

"I  knowed  it!"  caviled  Lazy  Daisy 
sotto  voce  to  no  one  in  particular.  "He 
could  n't  wait  for  the  news  till  he  was 
through  eatin' !"  But  Abe  had  folded 
the  paper  into  a  stout  weapon,  and, 
creeping  toward  the  window,  de 
spatched  by  a  quick,  adroit  movement 
a  fly  which  had  alighted  upon  the 
screen. 

"I  hate  the  very  sight  o'  them  air 
pesky  critters,"  he  explained  half  apol 
ogetically.  "Thar,  thar  's  another 
one,"  and  slaughtered  that. 

"My,  but  yew  kin  git  'em,  can't 
yew?"  spoke  Miss  Abigail  admiringly. 
"Them  tew  be  the  very  ones  I  tried  ter 
ketch  all  day  yiste'day;  I  kin  see  as  a 
fly-ketcher  yew  be  a-goin'  ter  be  wuth 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


a  farm  ter  me.  Set  deown  an'  try  some 
o'  this  here  strawberry  presarve." 

But  Abe  protested  that  he  could  not 
eat  another  bite  unless  he  should  get 
up  and  run  around  the  house  to  "joggle 
deown"  what  he  had  already  swal 
lowed.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
,and  surveyed  the  family:  on  his  right, 
generous-hearted  Blossy,  who  had 
been  smiling  approval  and  encourage 
ment  at  him  all  through  the  repast;  at 
his  left,  and  just  beyond  Angy,  Miss 
Abigail  indulging  in  what  remained 
on  the  dishes  now  that  she  discovered 
the  others  to  have  finished;  Aunt 
Nancy  keenly  watching  him  from  the 
head  of  the  board;  and  all  the  other 
sisters  "betwixt  an'  between." 

He  caught  Mrs.  Homan's  eye  where 
she  stood  in  the  doorway  leading  into 

r.743 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

the  kitchen,  and  remarked  pleasantly: 
"Ma'am,  yew  oughter  set  up  a  pan 
cake  shop  in  'York.  Yew  could  make 
a  fortune  at  it.  I  hain't  had  sech  a  meal 
o'  vittles  sence  I  turned  fifty  year  o' 
age." 

A  flattered  smile  overspread  Mrs. 
Roman's  visage,  and  the  other  sisters, 
noting  it,  wondered  how  long  it  would 
be  before  she  showed  her  claws  in 
Abraham's  presence. 

"Hy-guy,  Angy,"  Abe  went  on, 
"yew  can't  believe  nothin'  yew  hear, 
kin  yer  ?  Why,  folks  have  told  me  that 
yew  ladies—  What  yew  hittin'  my 
foot  fer,  Mother?  Folks  have  told 
me,"  a  twinkle  of  amusement  in  his 
eye  at  the  absurdity,  "that  yew  fight 
among  yerselves  like  cats  an'  dogs, 
when,  law!  I  never  see  sech  a  clever 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


lot  o'  women  gathered  tergether  in  all 
my  life.  An'  I  believe— Mother,  I 
hain't  a-sayin'  nothin' !  I  jest  want  ter 
let  'em  know  what  I  think  on  'em.  I 
believe  that  thar  must  be  three  hun- 
derd  hearts  in  this  here  place  'stid  o' 
thirty.  But  dew  yew  know,  gals,  folks 
outside  even  go  so  fur  's  ter  say  that 
yew  throw  plates  at  one  another !" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence;  then 
a  little  gasp  first  from  one  and  then 
from  another  of  the  group.  Every  one 
looked  at  Mrs.  Homan,  and  from  Mrs. 
Homan  to  Sarah  Jane.  Mrs.  Homan 
tightened  her  grip  on  the  pancake 
turner;  Sarah  Jane  uneasily  moved 
her  long  fingers  within  reach  of  a 
sturdy  little  red-and-white  pepper-pot. 
Another  moment  passed,  in  which  the 
air  seemed  filled  with  the  promise  of 

[763 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CORNER 

an  electric  storm.  Then  Blossy  spoke 
hurriedly — Blossy  the  tactician,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  together  and  bringing 
Abe's  attention  to  herself. 

"Really!  You  surprise  me!  You 
don't  mean  to  say  that  folks  talk  about 
us  like  that!" 

"Slander  is  a  dretful  long-legged 
critter,"  amended  Miss  Abigail,  smil 
ing  and  sighing  in  the  same  breath. 

"Sary  Jane,"  inquired  Mrs.  Roman 
sweetly,  "what  's  the  matter  with  that 
pepper-pot  ?  Does  it  need  fillin'  ?" 

And  so  began  the  reign  of  peace  in 
the  Old  Ladies'  Home. 


VI 

INDIAN  SUMMER 

MISS  ABIGAIL  had  not  banked 
in  vain  on  the  "foresightedness 
of  the  Lord."  At  the  end  of  six 
months,  instead  of  there  being  a  short 
age  in  her  accounts  because  of  Abe's 
presence,  she  was  able  to  show  the  di 
rectors  such  a  balance-sheet  as  excelled 
all  her  previous  commendable  records. 

"How  do  you  explain  it?"  they  asked 
her. 

"We  cast  our  bread  on  the  waters," 
she  answered,  "an'  Providence  jest 
kept  a-handin*  out  the  loaves."  Again 

1:783 


INDIAN  SUMMER 


she  said,  "  'T  was  grinnin'  that  done 
it.  Brother  Abe  he  kept  the  gardener 
good-natured,  an'  the  gardener  he  jest 
grinned  at  the  garden  sass  until  it  was 
ashamed  not  ter  flourish;  an'  Brother 
Abe  kept  the  gals  good-natured  an' 
they  wa'n't  so  niasy  about  what  they 
eat;  an'  he  kept  the  visitors  a-laughin' 
jest  ter  see  him  here,  an'  when  yew 
make  folks  laugh  they  want  ter  turn 
around  an'  dew  somethin'  fer  yew.  I 
tell  yew,  ef  yew  kin  only  keep  grit 
ernough  ter  grin,  yew  kin  drive  away 
a  drought." 

In  truth,  there  had  been  no  drought 
in  the  garden  that  summer,  but  almost 
a  double  yield  of  corn  and  beans;  no 
drought  in  the  gifts  sent  to  the  Home, 
but  showers  of  plenty.  Some  of  these 
came  in  the  form  of  fresh  fish  and 
C793 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


clams  left  at  the  back  door;  some  in 
luscious  fruits;  some  in  barrels  of 
clothing.  And  the  barrels  of  clothing 
solved  another  problem;  for  no  longer 
did  their  contents  consist  solely  of  ar 
ticles  of  feminine  attire.  "Biled  shirts" 
poured  out  of  them ;  socks  and  breeches, 
derby  hats,  coats  and  negligees;  until 
Aunt  Nancy  with  a  humorous  twist  to 
her  thin  lips  inquired  if  there  were 
thirty  men  in  this  establishment  and 
one  woman. 

"I  never  thought  I  'd  come  to 
wearin'  a  quilted  silk  basque  with  tos- 
sels  on  it,"  Abe  remarked  one  day  on 
being  urged  to  try  on  a  handsome 
smoking- jacket.  "Dew  I  look  like  one 
of  them  sissy -boys,  er  jest  a  dude?" 

"It  's  dretful  becoming,"  insisted 
Angy,  "bewtiful!  Ain't  it,  gals?" 


INDIAN   SUMMER 


Every  old  lady  nodded  her  head  with 
an  air  of  proud  proprietorship,  as  if  to 
say,  "Nothing  could  fail  to  become  our 
brother."  And  Angy  nodded  her  head, 
too,  in  delighted  approval  of  their  ap 
preciation  of  "our  brother"  and  "my 
husband." 

Beautiful,  joy-steeped,  pleasure-filled 
days  these  were  for  the  couple,  who 
had  been  cramped  for  life's  smallest 
necessities  so  many  meager  years. 
Angy  felt  that  she  had  been  made  mi 
raculously  young  by  the  birth  of  this 
new  Abraham — almost  as  if  at  last  she 
had  been  given  the  son  for  whom  in 
her  youth  she  had  prayed  with  impas 
sioned  appeal.  Her  old-wife  love  be 
came  rejuvenated  into  a  curious 
mixture  of  proud  mother-love  and 
young-wife  leaning,  as  she  saw  Abe 

r.813 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


win  every  heart  and  become  the  center 
of  the  community. 

"Why,  the  sisters  all  think  the  sun 
rises  an'  sets  in  him,"  Angy  would 
whisper  to  herself  sometimes,  awed  by 
the  glorious  wonder  of  it  all. 

The  sisters  fairly  vied  with  one  an 
other  to  see  how  much  each  could  do 
for  the  one  man  among  them.  Their 
own  preferences  and  prejudices  were 
magnanimously  thrust  aside.  In  a 
body  they  besought  their  guest  to 
smoke  as  freely  in  the  house  as  out  of 
doors.  Miss  Abigail  even  traded  some 
of  her  garden  produce  for  tobacco, 
while  Miss  Ellie  made  the  old  gentle 
man  a  tobacco-pouch  of  red  flannel  so 
generous  in  its  proportions  that  on  a 
pinch  it  could  be  used  as  a  chest-pro 
tector. 

[82: 


INDIAN  SUMMER 


Then  Ruby  Lee,  not  to  be  outdone 
by  anybody,  produced,  from  no  one 
ever  discovered  where,  a  mother-of- 
pearl  manicure  set  for  the  delight  and  p 
mystification  of  the  hero;  and  even 
Lazy  Daisy  went  so  far  as  to  cut  some 
red  and  yellow  tissue-paper  into 
squares  under  the  delusion  that  some 
time,  somehow,  she  would  find  the  en 
ergy  to  roll  these  into  spills  for  the 
lighting  of  Abe's  pipe.  And  each  and 
every  sister  from  time  to  time  con 
tributed  some  gift  or  suggestion  to  her 
"brother's"  comfort. 

It  "plagued"  the  others,  however,  to 
see  that  none  of  them  could  get  ahead 
of  Blossy  in  their  noble  endeavors  to 
make  Abraham  feel  himself  a  light  and 
welcome  burden.  She  it  was  who  dis 
covered  that  Abe's  contentment  could 

£833 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


not  be  absolute  without  griddle-cakes 
for  breakfast  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  times  a  year;  she  it  was  who  first 
baked  him  little  saucer-cakes  and  pies 
because  he  was  partial  to  edges;  and 
Blossy  it  was  who  made  out  a  list  of 
"Don'ts"  for  the  sisters  to  follow  in 
their  treatment  of  this  grown-up, 
young-old  boy. 

"Don't  scold  him  when  he  leaves  the 
doors  open.  Don't  tell  him  to  wipe  his 
feet.  Don't  ever  mention  gold-mines 
or  shiftless  husbands,"  etc.,  etc. 

All  these  triumphs  of  Blossy's  in 
tuition  served  naturally  to  spur  the 
others  on  to  do  even  more  for  Brother 
Abe  than  they  had  already  done,  until 
the  old  man  began  to  worry  for  fear 
that  he  should  "git  sp'ilt."  When  he 
lay  down  for  his  afternoon  nap  and 


INDIAN  SUMMER 


the  house  was  dull  and  quiet  without 
his  waking  presence,  the  ladies  would 
gather  in  groups  outside  his  door  as  if 
in  a  king's  antechamber,  waiting  for 
him  to  awaken,  saying  to  one  another 
ever  and  again,  "Sh,  sh!"  He  pro 
fessed  to  scoff  at  the  attentions  he 
received,  would  grunt  and  growl 
"Humbug !"  yet  nevertheless  he  thrived 
in  this  latter-day  sunlight.  His  old 
bones  took  on  flesh.  His  aged  kindly 
face,  all  seamed  with  care  as  it  had 
been,  filled  out,  the  wrinkles  turning 
into  twinkles.  Abraham  had  grown 
young  again.  With  the  return  of  his 
youth  came  the  spirit  of  youth  to  the 
Old  Ladies'  Home.  Verily,  verily,  as 
Blossy  had  avowed  from  the  first,  they 
had  been  in  sore  need  of  the  masculine 
presence.  The  ancient  coat  and  hat 
C853 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


which  had  hung  in  the  hall  so  long  had 
perhaps  served  its  purpose  in  keeping 
the  burglars  away,  but  this  lifeless 
substitute  had  not  prevented  the 
crabbed  gnomes  of  loneliness  and  dis 
content  from  stealing  in.  Spinster, 
wife,  and  widow,  they  had  every  one 
been  warped  by  the  testy  just-so-ness 
of  the  old  maid. 

Now,  instead  of  fretful  discussions 
of  health  and  food,  recriminations  and 
wrangling,  there  came  to  be  laughter 
and  good-humored  chatter  all  the  day 
long,  each  sister  striving  with  all  her 
strength  to  preserve  the  new-found 
harmony  of  the  Home.  There  were 
musical  evenings,  when  Miss  Abigail 
opened  the  melodeon  and  played  "Old 
Hundred,"  and  Abraham  was  encour 
aged  to  pick  out  with  one  stiff  fore- 
C86] 


INDIAN  SUMMER 


finger  "My  Grandfather's  Clock." 
"Hymn  tunes"  were  sung  in  chorus; 
and  then,  in  answer  to  Abe's  appeal 
for  something  livelier,  there  came 
time-tried  ditties  and  old,  old  love- 
songs.  And  at  last,  one  night,  after 
leaving  the  instrument  silent,  mute  in 
the  corner  of  the  parlor  for  many 
years,  Aunt  Nancy  Smith  dragged  out 
her  harp,  and,  seating  herself,  reached 
out  her  knotted,  trembling  hands  and 
brought  forth  what  seemed  the"  very 
echo,  so  faint  and  faltering  it  was,  of 
"Douglas,  Douglas,  Tender  and  True." 
There  was  a  long  silence  after  she 
had  finished,  her  head  bowed  on  her 
chest,  her  hands  dropped  to  her  sides. 
Abraham  spoke  first,  clearing  his 
throat  before  he  could  make  the  words 
come. 

C87] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"I  wish  I  could  git  a  husband  fer 
every  one  of  yer,"  said  he. 

And  no  one  was  angry,  and  no  one 
laughed ;  for  they  all  knew  that  he  was 
only  seeking  to  express  the  message 
conveyed  by  Nancy's  playing— the 
message  of  Love,  Love  triumphant, 
which  cannot  age,  which  over  the  years 
and  over  Death  itself  always  hath  th* 
victory. 


[88] 


B 


VII 

OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

LOSSY  left  the  room  without  a 


word,  and  went  stealing  up  the 
stairs  to  the  little  cupboard  where  she 
now  slept,  and  where  was  hung  on  the 
wall,  in  a  frame  of  yellow  hollyhocks, 
painted  by  her  own  hand,  a  photograph 
of  Captain  Samuel  Darby,  the  man 
who  had  remained  obstinately  devoted 
to  her  since  her  days  of  pinafores. 

The  picture  betrayed  that  Captain 
Darby  wore  a  wig  designed  for  a 
larger  man,  and  that  the  visage  be 
neath  was  gnarled  and  weather-beaten, 

[89] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

marked  with  the  signs  of  a  stubborn 
and  unreasonable  will. 

Even  now  the  aged  belle  could  hear 
him  saying:  "Here  I  be,  come  eround 
ter  pop  ag'in.  Ready  ter  hitch?" 

Samuel's  inelegant  English  had  al 
ways  been  a  source  of  distress  to 
Blossy;  yet  still  she  stared  long  at  the 
picture. 

Six  months  had  passed  since  his  last 
visit;  to-morrow  would  be  the  date  of 
his  winter  advent. 

Should  she  give  the  old  unvarying 
answer  to  his  tireless  formula? 

She  glanced  around  the  tiny  room. 
Ashamed  though  she  was  to  admit  it 
even  to  herself,  she  missed  that  ample 
and  cozy  chamber  which  she  had  so 
freely  surrendered  to  Abraham  and 
his  wife.  She  missed  it,  as  she  felt 
C90] 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

they  must  crave  their  very  own  fire 
side;  and  the  thought  that  they  missed 
the  old  homestead  made  her  yearn  for 
the  home  that  she  might  have  had— 
the  home  that  she  still  might  have. 

Again  she  brought  her  eyes  back  to 
the  portrait ;  and  now  she  saw,  not  the 
characteristics  which  had  always  made 
it  seem  impossible  for  her  and  Samuel 
to  jog  together  down  life's  road,  but 
the  great  truth  that  the  face  was  hon 
est  and  wholesome,  while  the  eyes 
looked  back  into  hers  with  the  promise 
of  an  unswerving  care  and  affection. 

The  next  morning  found  Blossy 
kneeling  before  a  plump,  little,  leather- 
bound,  time-worn  trunk  which  she 
kept  under  the  eaves  of  the  kitchen 
chamber.  The  trunk  was  packed  hard 
with  bundles  of  old  letters.  Some  her 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


younger  fingers  had  tied  with  violet 
ribbon;  some  they  had  bound  with 
pink ;  others  she  had  fastened  together 
\vith  white  silk  cord;  and  there  were 
more  and  more  bundles,  both  slim  and 
stout,  which  Blossy  had  distinguished 
by  some  special  hue  of  ribbon  in  the 
long  ago,  each  tint  marking  a  different 
suitor's  missives. 

To  her  still  sentimental  eye  the  col 
ors  remained  unfaded,  and  each  would 
bring  to  her  mind  instantly  the  picture 
of  the  writer  as  he  had  been  in  the 
golden  days.  But  save  to  Blossy's  eye 
alone  there  were  no  longer  any  rain 
bow  tints  in  the  little,  old  trunk;  for 
every  ribbon  and  every  cord  had  faded 
into  that  musty,  yellow  brown  which 
is  dyed  by  the  passing  of  many  years. 

Abraham  discovered  her  there,  too 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

engrossed  in  the  perusal  of  one  of  the 
old  letters  to  have  heeded  his  creaking 
steps  upon  the  stairs. 

"Did  n't  see  yer,  till  I  'most  stum 
bled  on  yer,"  he  began  apologetically. 
"I  come  fer  the  apple-picker.  Thar  's 
a  handful  of  russets  in  the  orchard  yit, 
that  's  calc'latin'  ter  spend  Christmas 
up  close  ter  heaven;  but—  Say, 
Blossy,"  he  added  more  loudly,  since 
she  did  not  raise  her  head,  "yew  seen 
anythin'  o'  that  air  picker?" 

Blossy  glanced  up  from  her  ragged- 
edged  crackly  billet-doux'  with  a  start, 
and  dropped  the  envelop  to  the  floor. 

For  the  moment,  so  deep  in  reminis 
cence  was  she,  she  thought  Captain 
Darby  himself  had  surprised  her;  then, 
recognizing  Abe  and  recalling  that 
Samuel's  winter  visits  were  invariably 

C933 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER 


paid  in  the  afternoon,  she  broke  into  a 
shamefaced  laugh. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Brother  Abe? 
Don't  tell  the  others  what  you  found 
me  doing.  These,"  with  a  wave  of  her 
delicate,  blue-veined  hands  over  the 
trunk  and  its  contents,  "are  all  old 
love-letters  of  mine.  Do  you  think 
I  'm  a  silly  old  goose  to  keep  them  clut 
tering  around  so  long?" 

"Wa'al,"— Abe  with  an  equally  dep 
recatory  gesture  indicated  Angy's 
horsehair  trunk  in  the  far  corner  of 
the  loft,— "yew  ain't  no  more  foolisher, 
I  guess,  over  yer  old  trash  'n  me  an' 
Angy  be  a-keepin'  that  air  minin'  stock 
of  mine.  One  lot  is  wuth  'bout  as 
much  as  t'  other." 

Recovering  the  envelop  that  she  had 
dropped,  he  squinted  at  the  superscrip- 

C94] 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

tion.  "Not  meanin'  ter  be  inquisitive 
or  personal,  Sister  Blossy,"  a  teasing 
twinkle  appearing  in  his  eye,  "but  this 
looks  dretful  familitary,  this  here 
handwritin'  does.  When  I  run  the 
beach — yew  Ve  heard  me  tell  of  the 
time  I  was  on  the  Life-savin'  Crew 
over  ter  Bleak  Hill  fer  a  spell— my 
cap'n  he  had  a  fist  jest  like  that.  Useter 
make  out  the  spickest,  spannest  re 
ports.  Lemme  see,"  the  twinkle  deep 
ening,  "did  n't  the  gals  say  yew  was  a 
'spectin'  somebody  ter-day?  Law,  I 
ain't  saw  Cap'n  Sam'l  fer  ten  year  or 
more.  I  guess  on  these  here  poppin' 
trips  o'  his'n  he  hain't  wastin'  time  on 
no  men-folks.  But,  Blossy,  yew  better 
give  me  a  chance  ter  talk  to  him  this 
arternoon,  an'  mebbe  I  '11  speak  a  good 
word  fer  yer." 

[953 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

Blossy,  not  always  keen  to  see  a 
joke,  and  with  her  vanity  now  in  the 
ascendant,  felt  the  color  rise  into  her 
withered  cheek. 

"Oh,  you  need  n't  take  the  trouble 
to  speak  a  good  word  for  me.  Any 
man  who  could  ever  write  a  letter  like 
this  does  n't  need  to  be  coaxed.  Just 
listen : 

"The  man  you  take  for  a  mate  is  the 
luckiest  dog  in  the  whole  round  world.  I  'd 
rather  be  him  than  king  of  all  the  countries 
on  earth.  I  'd  rather  be  him  than  strike  a 
gold-mine  reaching  from  here  to  China. 
I  'd  rather  be  him  than  master  of  the  finest 
vessel  that  ever  sailed  blue  water.  That  's 
what  I  would.  Why,  the  man  who  could 
n*t  be  happy  with  you  would  spill  tears  all 
over  heaven." 

Blossy's  cheek  was  still  flushed,  but 
no  longer  with  pique.  Her  voice  quav- 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

ered,  and  broke;  and  finally  there  fell 
upon  the  faded  page  of  the  letter  two 
sparkling  tears. 

i  Abraham  shuffled  uncomfortably 
from  one  foot  to  the  other;  then,  mut 
tering  something  about  the  "pesky 
apple-hook,"  went  scuffing  across  the 
floor  in  the  direction  of  the  chimney. 

Blossy,  however,  called  him  back. 
"I  was  crying,  Brother  Abe,  because 
the  man  I  did  take  for  a  mate  once  was 
not  happy,  and — and  neither  was  I.  I 
was  utterly  wretched;  so  that  I  Ve  al 
ways  felt  I  never  cared  to  marry  again. 
And — and  Samuel's  wig  is  always  slip- 
ping  down  over  one  eye,  and  I  simply 
cannot  endure  that  trick  he  has  of  car 
rying  his  head  to  one  side,  as  if  he  had 
a  left-handed  spell  of  the  mumps.  It 
nearly  drives  me  frantic. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


''Brother  Abe,  now  tell  me  honestly: 
do  you  think  he  would  make  a  good 
husband  ?" 

Abe  cleared  his  throat.  Blossy  was 
in  earnest.  Blossy  could  not  be  laughed 
at.  She  was  his  friend,  and  Angy's 
friend ;  and  she  had  come  to  him  as  to 
a  brother  for  advice.  He  too  had 
known  Samuel  as  man  to  man,  which 
was  more  than  any  of  the  sisters  could 
say. 

Stroking  his  beard  thoughtfully, 
therefore,  he  seated  himself  upon  a 
convenient  wooden  chest,  while  Blossy 
slipped  her  old  love-letter  in  and  out 
of  the  envelop,  with  that  essentially 
feminine  manner  of  weighing  and  con 
sidering. 

"Naow,"  began  Abe  at  length,  "this 
is  somep'n  that  requires  keerful  de- 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

batin'.  Fust  off,  haowsomever,  yew 
must  remember  that  wigs  an'  ways 
never  made  a  man  yit.  Ez  I  riccollec' 
Sam'l,  he  was  pooty  good  ez  men  go.  I 
should  say  he  would  n't  be  any  more  of 
a  risk  tew  yew  than  I  was  tew  Angy ; 
mebbe  less.  He  's  got  quite  a  leetle 
laid  by,  I  understand,  an'  a  tidy  story- 
an'-a-half  house,  an'  front  stoop,  an', 
by  golly,  can't  he  cook !  He  's  a  splen 
did  housekeeper." 

"Housewifery,"  remarked  Blossy 
sagely,  as  she  began  to  gather  her  mis 
sives  together,  "is  an  accomplishment 
to  be  scorned  in  a  young  husband,  but 
not  in  an  old  one.  They  say  there 
has  n't  been  a  woman  inside  Samuel's 
house  since  he  built  it,  but  it 's  as  clean 
as  soap  and  sand  can  make  it." 

"I  bet  yer,"  agreed  Abe.     "Hain't 

[993 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


never  been  no  fly  inside  it,  neither,  I 
warrant  yer.  Fly  can't  light  arter 
Sam'l's  cleanin'  up  nohaow;  he  's  got 
ter  skate." 

"He  says  he  built  that  little  house 
for  me,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  she  closed 
down  the  lid  of  the  trunk.  There  was 
a  wistful  note  in  Blossy's  voice,  which 
made  Abraham  declare  with  a  burst  of 
sympathy : 

'T  ain't  no  disgrace  ter  git  mar 
ried  at  no  time  of  life.  Sam'l  's  a  good 
pervider;  why  don't  yew  snap  him 
up  ter-day?  We  '11  miss  yew  a  lot; 
but-" 

"Here  's  the  apple-picker  right  over 
your  head,"  interrupted  Blossy  tartly, 
and  Abe  felt  himself  peremptorily  dis 
missed. 

Scarcely  had  he  left  the  attic,  how- 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

ever,  than  she  too  hastened  down  the 
steep,  narrow  stairs.  She  spent  the 
remaining  hours  before  train-time  in 
donning  her  beautiful  lace  gown,  and 
in  making  the  woman  within  it  as 
young  and  ravishing  as  possible.  And 
lovely,  indeed,  Blossy  looked  this  day, 
with  a  natural  flush  of  excitement  on 
her  cheek,  a  new  sparkle  in  her  bright, 
dark  eyes,  and  with  her  white  hair  ar 
ranged  in  a  fashion  which  might  have 
excited  a  young  girl's  envy. 

The  hour  for  the  train  came  and 
went,  and,  lo!  for  the  first  time  in  the 
,  history  of  twenty  years  Captain  Darby 
did  not  appear. 

Blossy  pretended  to  be  relieved,  pro 
testing  that  she  was  delighted  to  find 
that  she  would  now  have  an  extra  hour 
in  which  to  ponder  the  question.  But 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

the  second  train  came  and  went,  and 
still  no  Captain  Darby. 

All  the  afternoon  long  Blossy  wore 
her  lace  gown,  thinking  although  there 
were  no  more  trains  from  the  east 
ward  that  day,  that  Samuel  would  still 
find  his  way  to  her.  He  might  drive, 
as  he  usually  did  in  June,  or  he  might 
even  walk  from  his  home  at  Twin 
Coves,  she  said. 

At  night,  however,  she  was  obliged 
to  admit  that  he  could  not  be  coming; 
and  then,  quivering  with  honest  anxi 
ety  for  her  old  friend,  Blossy  dipped 
into  her  emergency  fund,  which  she 
kept  in  the  heart  of  a  little  pink  china 
pig  on  a  shelf  in  her  room,— a  pink 
china  pig  with  a  lid  made  of  stiff 
black  hair  standing  on  edge  in  the 
middle  of  his  back,— and  sent  a  tele- 


OLD  LETTERS  AND  NEW 

gram  to  Captain  Darby,  asking  if  he 
were  sick. 

The  answer  came  back  slowly  by 
mail,  to  find  Blossy  on  the  verge  of  a 
nervous  collapse,  under  the  care  of  all 
the  women  in  the  house. 

That  letter  Blossy  never  showed  to 
Brother  Abe,  nor  to  any  one  else. 
Neither  did  she  treasure  it  in  the  sen 
timental  trunk  beneath  the  attic  eaves. 
The  letter  ran: 

DEAR  BETSY  ANN  :  I  never  felt  better  in 
my  life.  Ain't  been  sick  a  minute.  Just 
made  up  my  mind  I  was  a  old  fool,  and 
was  going  to  quit.  If  you  change  your  in 
tentions  at  any  time,  just  drop  me  a  postal. 
As  ever, 

SAM'L  DARBY,  ESQ. 

'This,  Captain  Darby,  makes  your 
rejection  final,"  vowed  Blossy  to  her- 
[[1033 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


self,  as  she  tore  the  note  into  frag 
ments  and  drowned  them  in  the  spirits 
of  lavender  with  which  the  sisters  had 
been  seeking  to  soothe  her  distracted 
nerves. 


D043 


VIII 

THE  ANNIVERSARY 

A  BOUT  this  time  Blossy  developed 
IJL  a  tendency  to  draw  Brother 
Abraham  aside  at  every  opportunity, 
convenient  or  inconvenient,  in  order  to 
put  such  questions  as  these  to  him : 

"Did  you  say  it  is  fully  thirty-five 
years  since  you  and  Captain  Darby 
were  on  the  beach  together?  Do  you 
think  he  has  grown  much  older  ?  Had 
he  lost  his  hair  then?  Did  he  care  for 
the  opposite  sex?  Was  he  very  brave 
—or  would  you  say  more  brave  than 
stubborn  and  contrary?  Is  n't  it  a 
blessing  that  I  never  married  him?" 

05:] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Fearful  of  the  ridicule  of  the  sisters, 
Blossy  was  always  careful  to  conduct 
these  inquiries  in  whispers,  or  at  least 
in  undertones  with  a  great  observance 
of  secrecy,  sometimes  stopping  Abe  on 
the  stairs,  sometimes  beckoning  him  to 
her  side  when  she  was  busy  about  her 
household  tasks  on  the  pretense  of  re 
quiring  his  assistance.  On  one  occa 
sion  she  even  went  so  far  as  to  inveigle 
him  into  holding  a  skein  of  wool  about 
his  clumsy  hands,  while  she  wound  the 
violet  worsted  into  a  ball,  and  deli 
cately  inquired  if  he  believed  Samuel 
spoke  the  truth  when  he  had  protested 
that  he  had  never  paid  court  to  any 
other  woman. 

Alas,  Blossy's  frequent  tete-a-tetes 
with  the  amused  but  sometimes  impa 
tient  Abraham  started  an  exceedingly 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


foolish  suspicion.  When,  asked  the 
sisters  of  one  another,  did  Abe  ever 
help  any  one,  save  Blossy,  shell  dried 
beans  or  pick  over  prunes  ?  When  had 
he  ever  been  known  to  hold  wool  for 
Angy's  winding?  Not  once  since  woo- 
ing-time,  I  warrant  you.  What  could 
this  continual  hobnobbing  and  going 
off  into  corners  mean,  except— flirta 
tion? 

Ruby  Lee  whispered  it  first  into  Aunt 
Nancy's  good  ear.  Aunt  Nancy  in 
dulged  in  four  pinches  of  snuff  in  rapid 
succession,  sneezed  an  amazing  num 
ber  of  times,  and  then  acridly  informed 
Ruby  Lee  that  she  was  a  "jealous  cat" 
and  always  had  been  one. 

However,  Aunt  Nancy  could  not  re 
frain  from  carrying  the  gossip  to  Miss 
Ellie,  adding  that  she  herself  had  been 

[1073 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

suspicious  of  Abe's  behavior  from  the 
start. 

"Oh,  no,  no !"  cried  the  shocked  and 
shrinking  spinster.  "And  Angy  so 
cheerful  all  the  time?  I  don't  believe 
it." 

But  whisper,  whisper,  buzz,  buzz, 
went  the  gossip,  until  finally  it  reached 
the  pink  little  ears  at  the  side  of  Miss 
Abigail's  generously  proportioned 
head.  The  pink  ears  turned  crimson, 
likewise  the  adjoining  cheeks,  and  Miss 
Abigail  panted  with  righteous  indig 
nation. 

"It  all  comes  of  this  plagued  old 
winter-time,"  she  declared,  sharply 
biting  her  thread,  for  she  was  mending 
a  table-cloth.  "Shet  the  winders  on 
summer,  an'  yew  ketch  the  tail  of  slan 
der  in  the  latch  every  time.  Naow,  ef 

DOS: 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


I  hear  one  word  about  this  'tarnal  fool 
ishness  comin'  to  Angy's  ears,  or 
Brother  Abe's,  or  Blossy's  either,  fer 
that  matter,  we  '11  all  have  to  eat  off  'n 
oil-cloth  Sundays,  the  same  as  week 
days,  until  I  see  a  more  Christian 
sperit  in  the  house." 

She  gave  the  Sunday  damask  across 
her  lap  a  pat  which  showed  she  was  in 
earnest;  and  the  rebuked  sisters 
glanced  at  one  another,  as  if  to  say: 

"Suppose  the  minister  should  walk 
in  some  Sabbath  afternoon  and  find 
oil-cloth  on  the  table,  and  ask  the  rea 
son  why?" 

They  one  and  all  determined  to  take 
Aunt  Nancy's  advice  and  "sew  a  but 
ton  on  their  lips." 

Fortunately,  too,  the  February 
thaws  had  already  set  in,  and  the  re- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


mainder  of  the  winter  passed  without 
any  severe  strain  on  the  "buttonholes." 
And  at  length  the  welcome  spring  be 
gan  to  peep  forth,  calling  to  the  old 
folks,  "Come  out,  and  grow  young 
with  the  young  year !" 

With  the  bursting  forth  of  the  new 
springtide  the  winter's  talk  seemed  to 
drop  as  a  withered  and  dead  oak-leaf 
falls  from  its  winter-bound  branches; 
and  Abe  stood  once  more  alive  to  the 
blessings  of  renewed  approval. 

Angy  went  out  of  doors  with  Miss 
Abigail,  and  puttered  around  among 
the  flowers  as  if  they  were  her  own, 
thanking  God  for  Abe's  increasing 
popularity  in  the  same  breath  that  she 
gave  thanks  for  the  new  buds  of  the 
spring. 

The  anniversary  of  the  Roses'  en- 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


trance  into  the  Home  drew  nearer,  and 
Blossy  suggested  that  the  best  way  to 
celebrate  the  event  would  be  by  means 
of  a  "pink  tea." 

Neither  Angy  nor  Abe,  nor  in  fact 
half  the  sisters,  had  any  clear  concep 
tion  of  what  a  tinted  function  might 
be;  but  they  one  and  all  seized  upon 
Blossy's  idea  as  if  it  were  a  veritable 
inspiration,  and  for  the  time  jealousies 
were  forgotten,  misunderstandings 
erased. 

Such  preparations  as  were  made  for 
that  tea!  The  deaf-and-dumb  gar 
dener  was  sent  with  a  detachment  of 
small  boys  to  fetch  from  the  wayside 
and  meadows  armfuls  of  wild  roses  I 
for  the  decorations.  Miss  Abigail 
made  pink  icing  for  the  cake.  Ruby 
Lee  hung  bleeding-hearts  over  the 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

dining-room  door.  Aunt  Nancy  resur 
rected  from  the  bottom  of  her  trunk  a 
white  lace  cap  with  a  rakish-looking 
pink  bow  for  an  adornment,  and  fast 
ened  it  to  her  scant  gray  hairs  in  honor 
of  the  occasion.  Blossy  turned  her 
pink  china  pig,  his  lid  left  up-stairs, 
into  a  sugar-bowl. 

Pink,  pink,  pink,  everywhere;  even 
in  Angy's  proud  cheeks!  Pink,  and 
pink,  and  pink !  Abe  used  to  grow  dizzy, 
afterward,  trying  to  recall  the  various 
pink  articles  which  graced  that  tea. 

But  most  delightful  surprise  of  all 
was  his  anniversary  gift,  which  was 
slyly  slipped  to  his  place  after  the  dis 
cussion  of  the  rose-colored  strawberry 
gelatin.  It  was  a  square,  five-pound 
parcel  wrapped  in  pink  tissue-paper, 
tied  with  pink  string,  and  found  to  con- 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


tain  so  much  Virginia  tobacco,  which 
Blossy  had  inveigled  an  old  Southern 
admirer  into  sending  her  for  "chari 
table  purposes." 

After  the  presentation  of  this  valu 
able  gift,  Abraham  felt  that  the  time 
had  come  for  him  to  make  a  speech — 
practically  his  maiden  speech. 

He  said  at  the  beginning,  more 
suavely  at  his  ease  than  he  would  have 
believed  possible,  secure  of  sympathy 
and  approbation,  with  Angy's  glowing 
old  eyes  upon  her  prodigy,  that  all  the 
while  he  had  been  at  the  Home,  he  had 
never  before  felt  the  power  to  express 
his  gratitude  for  the  welcome  which 
had  been  accorded  him — the  welcome 
which  seemed  to  wear  and  wear,  as  if 
it  were  all  wool  and  a  yard  wide,  and 
could  never  wear  out. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


The  old  ladies  nodded  their  heads  in 
approval  of  this,  every  face  beaming; 
but  as  the  speech  went  on  the  others 
perceived  that  Abe  had  singled  out 
Blossy  for  special  mention,— blind, 
blind  Abraham ! — Blossy,  who  had  first 
proposed  admitting  him  into  this  para 
dise;  Blossy,  who  had  given  up  her 
sunny  south  chamber  to  his  comfort 
and  Angy's;  Blossy,  who  had  been  as 
a  "guardeen  angel"  to  him;  Blossy, 
who  as  a  fitting  climax  to  all  her  sis 
terly  attentions  had  given  him  to-day 
this  wonderful,  wonderful  pink  tea, 
and  "this  five  hull  pound  o'  Virginny 
terbaccer." 

He  held  the  parcel  close  to  his 
bosom,  and  went  on,  still  praising 
Blossy, — this  innocent  old  gentleman, 
—heedless  of  Angy's  gentle  tug  at  his 

c  114:1 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


coat-tail;  while  Blossy  buried  her  ab 
surdly  lovely  old  face  in  the  pink  flush 
of  a  wild-rose  spray,  and  the  other  old 
ladies  stared  from  him  to  her,  their 
faces  growing  hard  and  cold. 

When  Abraham  sat  down,  aglow 
with  pride  over  his  oratorical  tri 
umphs,  his  chest  expanded,  his  counte 
nance  wrinkled  into  a  thousand  guile 
less,  grateful  smiles,  there  was  absolute 
silence. 

Then  Blossy,  her  head  still  bowed  as 
if  in  shy  confusion,  began  to  clap  her 
hands  daintily  together,  whereat  a  few 
of  the  others  joined  her  half-heartedly. 
A  sense  of  chill  crept  over  Abraham. 
Accustomed  as  a  rule  to  deferential 
attention,  did  he  but  say  good-morn 
ing,  by  no  means  aware  that  his  throne 
had  toppled  during  the  winter,  he  was 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

still  forced  to  perceive  that  something 
had  gone  amiss. 

As  always  when  aught  troubled  his 
mind,  "Father"  turned  to  Angy;  but 
instead  of  his  composed  and  resource 
ful  little  wife  he  found  a  scared-faced 
and  trembling  woman.  Angy  had  sud 
denly  become  conscious  of  the  shadow 
of  the  green-eyed  monster.  Angy's 
loyal  heart  was  crying  out  to  her  mate : 
"Don't  git  the  sisters  daown  on  yer, 
Abe,  'cuz  then,  mebbe,  yew  '11  lose  yer 
hum !"  But  poor  Angeline's  lips  were 
so  stiff  with  terror  over  the  prospect 
of  the  County  House  for  her  husband, 
that  she  could  not  persuade  them  to 
speech. 

Abraham,  completely  at  sea,  turned 
next  to  her  whom  he  had  called  his 
guardian  angel;  but  Blossy  was  rising 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


from  her  seat,  a  baffling  smile  of  ex 
pectancy  on  her  face,  the  rose  spray 
swinging  in  her  delicate  hand  as  if  to 
the  measure  of  some  music  too  far 
back  in  youth  for  any  one  else  to  hear. 
Blossy  had  worn  that  expectant  look 
all  day.  She  might  have  been  delight 
edly  hugging  to  herself  a  secret  which 
she  had  not  shared  even  with  the 
trusted  Abraham.  She  was  gowned 
in  her  yellow  lace,  the  beauty  and 
grace  of  which  had  defied  the  chang 
ing  fashions  as  Blossy's  remarkable 
elegance  of  appearance  had  defied  the 
passing  of  the  years. 

"Brother  Abe,"— in  her  heedlessness 
of  the  mischief  she  had  wrought, 
Blossy  seemed  almost  to  sing,— "I 
never  shall  forget  your  speech  as  long 
as  I  live.  Will  you  excuse  me  now?" 

CII73 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


She  swept  out  of  the  door,  her  skirts 
rustling  behind  her. 

Abe  collected  himself  so  far  as  to 
bow  in  the  direction  she  had  taken; 
then  with  lamblike  eyes  of  inquiry  met 
the  exasperated  glances  cast  upon  him. 

Not  a  sister  moved  or  spoke.  They 
all  sat  as  if  glued  to  their  chairs,  in  a 
silence  that  was  fast  growing  appall 
ing. 

Abe  turned  his  head  and  looked  be 
hind  his  chair  for  an  explanation;  but 
nothing  met  his  eye,  save  the  familiar 
picture  on  the  wall  of  two  white  kittens 
playing  in  the  midst  of  a  huge  bunch 
of  purple  lilacs. 

Then  there  broke  upon  the  stillness 
the  quavering  old  voice  of  Aunt 
Nancy,  from  her  place  opposite  Abe's 
at  the  head  of  the  board.  The  aged 


THE  ANNIVERSARY 


dame  had  her  two  hands  clasped  be 
fore  her  on  the  edge  of  the  table, 
vainly  trying  to  steady  their  palsied 
shaking.  Her  eyes,  bright,  piercing, 
age-defying,  she  fixed  upon  the  bewil 
dered  Abraham  with  a  look  of  deep 
and  sorrowful  reproach.  Her  unsteady 
head  bobbed  backward  and  forward 
with  many  an  accusing  nod,  and  the 
cap  with  its  rakish  pink  bow  bobbed 
backward  and  forward  too.  Abe 
watched  her,  fascinated,  unconsciously 
wondering,  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
disquietude,  why  the  cap  did  not  slide 
off  her  bald  scalp  entirely.  To  his 
amazement,  she  addressed  not  himself, 
but  Angy. 

"Sister  Rose,  yew  kin  leave  the 
room."  Implacable  purpose  spoke  in 
Aunt  Nancy's  tone.  Angy  started, 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


looked  up,  going  first  red  and  then 
white;  but  she  did  not  move.  She 
opened  her  lips  to  speak. 

"I  don't  want  ter  hear  a  word  from 
yew,  nor  anybody  else,"  sternly  inter 
posed  Aunt  Nancy.  "I  'm  old  enough 
ter  be  yer  mother.  Go  up-stairs !" 

Angy's  glance  sought  Miss  Abigail, 
but  the  matron's  eyes  avoided  hers. 
The  little  wife  sighed,  rose  reluctantly, 
dropped  her  hand  doubtfully  reassur 
ing  on  Abe's  shoulder,  and  then  went 
obediently  to  the  door. 

From  the  threshold  she  looked  wist 
fully  back;  but  an  imperious  wave 
from  Aunt  Nancy  banished  her  alto 
gether,  and  Abe  found  himself  alone 
—not  with  the  sisters  whom  he  loved, 
but  with  twenty-eight  hard-visaged 
strangers. 

[120] 


IX 

A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

CAP'N  ROSE,"  began  Aunt 
Nancy.  Brother  Abe  pricked  up 
his  ears  at  the  formal  address.  "Cap'n 
Rose,"  she  repeated,  deliberately  dwell 
ing  on  the  title.  "I  never  believe  in 
callin'  a  man  tew  account  in  front  of 
his  wife.  It  gives  him  somebody  handy 
ter  blame  things  on  tew  jest  like  ole 
Adam.  Naow,  look  a-here!  What  I 
want  is  ter  ask  yew  jest  one  question : 
Whar,  whar  on  'arth  kin  we  look  f  er  a 
decent  behavin'  ole  man  ef  not  in  a  Old 
Ladies'  Hum?  Would  yew-  "  she  ex- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

horted  earnestly,  pointing  her  crooked 
forefinger  at  him.    "Would  yew- 
Abraham  caught  his  breath.    Beads 
of  sweat  had  appeared  on  his  brow. 
He  broke  in  huskily : 

"Wait  a  minute,  Aunt  Nancy.  Jest 
tell  me  what  I  've  been  an'  done." 

The  ladies  glanced  at  one  another, 
contemptuous,  incredulous  smiles  on 
their  faces,  while  Aunt  Nancy  almost 
wept  at  his  deceitfulness. 

"Cap'n  Rose,"  she  vowed  mourn 
fully,  "I  've  lived  in  this  house  fer 
many,  many  years,  an'  all  the  while  I 
been  here  I  never  hearn  tell  o'  a  breath 
o'  scandal  ag'in'  the  place  until  yew 
come  an'  commenced  ter  kick  up  yer 
heels." 

Lazy  Daisy,  who  had  long  been  an 
inmate,  also  nodded  her  unwieldy  head 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

in  confirmation,  while  a  low  murmur 
of  assent  arose  from  the  others.  Abra 
ham  could  only  pass  his  hand  over  his 
brow,  uneasily  shuffle  his  maligned 
heels  over  the  floor  and  await  further 
developments ;  for  he  did  not  have  the 
slightest  conception  as  to  "what  they 
were  driving  at." 

"Cap'n  Rose,"  the  matriarch  pro 
ceeded,  as  in  the  earnestness  of  her  in 
dignation  she  arose,  trembling,  in  her 
seat  and  stood  with  her  palsied  and 
shaking  hands  on  the  board,  "Cap'n 
Rose,  yer  conduct  with  this  here  Mis' 
Betsey  Ann  Blossom  has  been  some- 
thin'  ridiculous !  It  's  been  disgrace 
ful!" 

Aunt  Nancy  sat  down,  incongru 
ously  disreputable  in  appearance,  her 
pink  bow  having  slipped  down  over 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


her  right  ear  during  the  harangue. 
Over  the  culprit's  countenance  light 
had  dawned,  but,  shame  to  tell !  it  was 
a  light  not  wholly  remorseful.  Then 
silent  laughter  shook  the  old  man's 
shoulders,  and  then — could  it  be? — 
there  crept  about  his  lips  and  eyes  a 
smile  of  superbly  masculine  conceit. 
The  sisters  were  fighting  over  him. 
Would  n't  Mother  be  amused  when  he 
should  tell  her  what  all  this  fuss  was 
about. 

Now,  kindly,  short-sighted  Miss 
Abigail  determined  that  it  was  time 
for  the  matron's  voice  to  be  heard. 

"Of  course,  Brother  Abe,  we  under 
stand  perfectly  that  yew  never  stopped 
ter  take  inter  consideration  haow  sus 
ceptible  some  folks  is  made." 

There   being   plain    evidence    from 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

Abe's  blank  expression  that  he  did  not 
understand  the  meaning  of  the  word, 
Ruby  Lee  hastened  to  explain. 

"Susceptible  is  the  same  as  flighty- 
headed.  Blossy  allers  was  a  fool  over 
anything  that  wore  breeches." 

Abe  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the 
table  and  crossed  his  legs  comfortably. 
For  him  all  the  chill  had  gone  out  of 
the  air.  Suppose  that  there  was  some 
thing  in  this?  An  old,  old  devil  of 
vanity  came  back  to  the  aged  husband's 
heart.  He  recalled  that  he  had  been 
somewhat  of  a  beau  before  he  learned 
the  joy  of  loving  Angy.  More  than 
one  Long  Island  lassie  had  thrown 
herself  at  his  head.  Of  course  Blossy 
would  "get  over"  this ;  and  Angy  knew 
that  his  heart  was  hers  as  much  as  it 
had  been  the  day  he  purchased  his 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


wedding-beaver ;  but  Abe  could  not  re 
frain  from  a  chuckle  of  complacent 
amusement  as  he  stroked  his  beard. 

His  very  evident  hardness  of  heart 
so  horrified  the  old  ladies  that  they  all 
began  to  attack  him  at  once. 

"Seems  ter  me  I  'd  have  the  decency 
ter  show  some  shame !"  grimly  avowed 
Sarah  Jane. 

Abe  could  not  help  it.  He  sputtered. 
Even  Miss  Abigail's,  "Yew  were  a 
stranger  an'  we  took  yew  in"  did  not 
sober  him. 

"Ef  any  one  o'  my  husbands  had 
acted  the  way  you  've  acted,  Abe 
Rose,"  began  Mrs.  Homan. 

"Poor  leetle  Angy,"  broke  in  the 
gentle  Miss  Ellie  pityingly.  "She  must 
'a'  lost  six  pounds." 

Abraham's  mobile  face  clouded  over. 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

"Angy?"  he  faltered.  "Yew  don't 
mean  that  Angy— "  Silence  again  fell 
on  the  group,  while  every  glance  was 
fastened  on  Abraham.  "See  here,"  he 
flashed  his  faded  blue  eye,  "Angy  's 
got  more  sense  than  that !" 

No  one  answered,  but  there  was  a 
significant  shrugging  of  shoulders  and 
lifting  of  eyebrows.  Abraham  was 
distressed  and  concerned  enough  now. 
Rising  from  his  place  he  besought  the 
sisters: 

"Yew  don't  think  Angy's  feelin's 
have  been  hurt — dew  yew,  gals?" 

Their  faces  softened,  their  figures 
relaxed,  the  tide  of  feeling  changed  in 
Abraham's  favor.  Miss  Ellie  spoke 
very  softly : 

"Yew  know  that  even  'the  Lord  thy 
God  is  a  jealous  God.' ' 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

Abraham  grasped  the  back  of  his 
chair  for  support,  his  figure  growing 
limp  with  astonishment.  "Mother, 
jealous  of  me?"  he  whispered  to  him 
self,  the  memory  of  all  the  years  and 
all  the  great  happenings  of  all  the 
years  coming  back  to  him.  "Mother 
jealous  of  me?"  He  remembered  how 
he  had  once  been  tormented  by  jealousy 
in  the  long,  the  ever-so-long  ago,  and 
of  a  sudden  he  hastened  into  the  hall 
and  went  half-running  up  the  stairs. 
He  took  hold  of  the  latch  of  his  bed 
room  door.  It  did  not  open.  The  door 
was  locked. 

"Angy !"  he  called,  a  fear  of  he  knew 
not  what  gripping  at  his  heart. 
"Angy!"  he  repeated  as  she  did  not 
answer. 

The  little  old  wife  had  locked  her- 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

self  in  out  of  very  shame  of  the  rare 
tears  which  had  been  brought  to  the 
surface  by  the  sisters'  cruel  treatment 
of  Abraham.  When  she  heard  his  call 
she  hastened  to  the  blue  wash-basin 
and  began  hurriedly  to  dab  her  eyes. 
He  would  be  alarmed  if  he  saw  the 
traces  of  her  weeping.  Whatever  had 
happened  to  him,  for  his  sake  she  must 
face  it  valiantly.  He  called  again. 
Again  she  did  not  answer,  knowing 
that  her  voice  would  be  full  of  the  tell 
tale  tears.  Abe  waited.  He  heard  the 
tramp  of  feet  passing  out  of  the  din 
ing-room  into  the  hall.  He  heard 
Blossy  emerge  from  her  room  at  the 
end  of  the  passage  and  go  tripping 
down  the  stairs.  The  time  to  Angy, 
guiltily  bathing  her  face,  was  short; 
the  time  to  her  anxious  husband  unac- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


countably  long.  The  sound  of  wheels 
driving  up  to  the  front  door  came  to 
Abe's  ears.  Still  Angy  made  him  no 
response. 

"Angy !"  he  raised  his  voice  in  pite 
ous  pleading.  What  mattered  if  the 
sisters  gathered  in  the  lower  hall  heard 
him?  What  mattered  if  the  chance 
guest  who  had  just  arrived  heard  him 
also  ?  He  had  his  peace  to  make  with 
his  wife  and  he  would  make  it. 
"Angy!" 

She  flung  the  door  open  hastily.  The 
signs  of  the  tears  had  not  been  obliter 
ated,  and  her  face  was  drawn  and  old. 
Straightway  she  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm  and  searched  his  face  inquiringly. 

"What  did  the  gals  say  ter  yew?" 
she  whispered.  "Abe,  yew  made  a  mis" 
take  when  yew  picked  out  Bl — " 

£130:1 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

"Poor  leetle  Mother!''  he  inter 
rupted.  "Poor  leetle  Mother !"  a  world 
of  remorseful  pity  in  his  tone.  "So 
yew  been  jealous  of  yer  ole  man  ?" 

Angeline,  astonished  and  indignant, 
withdrew  her  hand  sharply,  demand 
ing  to  know  if  he  had  lost  his  senses ; 
but  the  blinded  old  gentleman  slipped 
his  arm  around  her  and,  bending, 
brushed  his  lips  against  her  cheek. 
"Thar,  thar,"  he  murmured  sooth 
ingly,  "I  did  n't  mean  no  harm.  I  can't 
help  it  ef  all  the  gals  git  stuck  on  me !" 

Before  Angy  could  make  any  reply, 
Blossy  called  to  the  couple  softly  but 
insistently  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs; 
and  Angy,  wrenching  herself  free, 
hastened  down  the  steps,  for  once  in 
her  life  glad  to  get  away  from  Abe. 
He  lost  no  time  in  following.  No  mat- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


ter  where  Angy  went,  he  would  follow 
until  all  was  well  between  her  and  him 
again. 

But  what  was  this?  At  the  landing, 
Angy  halted  and  so  did  Abe,  for  in  the 
center  of  the  sisters  stood  Blossy  with 
her  Sunday  bonnet  perched  on  her  sil 
ver-gold  hair  and  her  white  India 
shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and  beside 
Blossy  stood  Captain  Samuel  Darby 
with  a  countenance  exceedingly  radi 
ant,  his  hand  clasped  fast  in  that  of 
the  aged  beauty. 

"Oh,  hurry,  Sister  Angy  and 
Brother  Abe!"  called  Blossy.  "We 
were  waiting  for  you,  and  I  Ve  got 
some  news  for  all  my  friends."  She 
waited  smilingly  for  them  to  join  the 
others;  then  with  a  gesture  which  in 
cluded  every  member  of  the  household, 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

she  proceeded:  "The  pink  tea,  I  want 
you  all  to  know,  had  a  double  signifi 
cance,  and  first,  of  course,  it  was  to 
celebrate  the  anniversary  of  Brother 
Abe's  sojourn  with  us;  but  next  it  was 
my  farewell  to  the  Home."  Here 
Blossy  gurgled  and  gave  the  man  at 
her  right  so  coy  a  glance  that  Samuel's 
face  flamed  red  and  he  hung  his  head 
lower  to  one  side  than  usual,  like  a  lit 
tle  boy  that  had  been  caught  stealing 
apples.  "I  left  the  tea  a  trifle  early— 
you  must  forgive  me,  Brother  Abe,  but 
I  heard  the  train-whistle."  Abe  stood 
beside  Angeline,  rooted  in  astonish 
ment,  while  Blossy  continued  to  ad 
dress  him  directly.  "You  gave  Samuel 
so  many  good  recommendations,  dear 
brother,  that  when  the  time  approached 
for  his  June  visit,  I  felt  that  I  simply 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


could  not  let  him  miss  it  as  he  did  in 
December.  Last  year,  on  the  day  you 
entered,  he  was  here  through  no  desire 
of  mine.  To-day  he  is  here  at  my  re 
quest.  My  friends,"  again  she  in 
cluded  the  entire  Home  in  her  glance, 
"we  '11  come  back  a  little  later  to  say 
Good-by.  Now,  we  're  on  the  way  to 
the  minister's." 

The  pair,  Samuel  tongue-tied  and 
bewildered  by  the  joy  of  his  finally 
won  success,  moved  toward  the  door. 
On  the  threshold  of  the  Home  Blossy 
turned  and  waved  farewell  to  the  com 
panions  of  her  widowhood,  while  Sam 
uel  bowed  in  a  dazed  fashion,  his  face 
still  as  red  as  it  was  blissful.  Then 
quickly  the  two  passed  out  upon  the 
porch.  No  one  moved  to  see  them  off. 
Abe  looked  everywhere  yet  nowhere 
CI343 


A  WINTER  BUTTERFLY 

at  all.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  even 
when  the  carriage  was  heard  rolling 
down  the  drive;  but  the  sound  of  the 
wheels  seemed  to  arouse  Angy  from 
her  stupor  of  amazement;  and  pres 
ently  Abraham  became  conscious  of  a 
touch, — a  touch  sympathetic,  tender 
and  true,— a  touch  all-understanding 
-the  touch  of  Angy's  hand  within  his 
own. 


£135:1 


K 

THE  TURN   OF  THE  TIDE 

FROM  time  immemorial  the  history 
of  the  popular  hero  has  ever  been 
the  same.  To  king  and  patriot,  to  the 
favorite  girl  at  school  and  the  small 
boy  who  is  leader  of  the  "gang,"  to 
politician,  to  preacher,  to  actor  and 
author,  comes  first  worship  then 
eclipse.  The  great  Napoleon  did  not 
escape  this  common  fate ;  and  the  pub- 
\lic  idol  who  was  kissed  only  yesterday 
for  his  gallant  deeds  is  scorned  to-day 
for  having  permitted  the  kissing.  Oh, 
caprice  of  the  human  heart !  Oh,  cr)r 
of  the  race  for  the  unaccustomed ! 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

From  that  first  anniversary  of  his 
entrance  into  the  Home,  Abraham  felt 
his  popularity  decrease— in  fact  more 
than  decrease.  He  saw  the  weather- 
vane  go  square  about,  and  where  he  \ 
had  known  for  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days  the  gentle,  balmy  feel 
of  the  southwest  zephyr,  he  found  him 
self  standing  of  a  sudden  in  a  cold, 
bleak  northeast  wind.  The  change  be 
wildered  the  old  man,  and  reacted  on 
his  disposition.  As  he  had  blossomed 
in  the  sunshine,  so  now  he  began  to 
droop  in  the  shade.  Feeling  that  he 
was  suspected  and  criticized,  he  began 
to  grow  suspicious  and  fault-finding 
himself.  His  old  notion  that  he  had 
no  right  to  take  a  woman's  place  in  the 
Institution  came  back  to  his  brain,  and 
he  would  brood  over  it  for  hours  at  a 
D373 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


time,  sitting  out  on  the  porch  with  his 
pipe  and  Angy. 

The  old  wife  grieved  to  think  that 
Father  was  growing  old  and  beginning 
to  show  his  years.  She  made  him  some 
tansy  tea,  but  neither  her  persuasions 
nor  those  of  the  whole  household  could 
induce  him  to  take  it.  He  had  never 
liked  "doctoring"  anyway,  although  he 
had  submitted  to  it  more  or  less  during 
the  past  year  in  unconscious  subservi 
ence  to  his  desire  to  increase  his  popu 
larity;  but  now  he  fancied  that  where 
once  he  had  been  served  as  a  king  by 
all  these  female  attendants,  he  was 
simply  being  "pestered"  as  a  punish 
ment  for  his  past  behavior  with  Blossy. 
Ah,  with  its  surprising  ending  that 
had  been  a  humiliating  affair;  and  he 
felt  too  that  he  would  be  long  in  for- 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

giving  Mrs.  Darby  for  not  having  con 
fided  to  him  her  actual  intentions. 
Now  he  was  afraid  to  be  decently 
courteous  to  one  of  the  sisters  for  fear 
that  they  might  accuse  him  of  light 
dalliance  again;  and  he  scarcely  ever 
addressed  the  new  member  who  came 
to  take  Blossy's  little  room,  for  he  had 
been  cut  to  the  quick  by  her  look  of 
astonishment  when  she  was  told  that 
he  belonged  there. 

In  his  mental  ferment  the  old  man 
began  to  nag  at  Angy.  Sad  though 
it  is  to  confess  of  a  hero  honestly  loved, 
Abraham  had  nagged  a  little  all  his 
married  life  when  things  went  wrong. 
And  Angeline,  fretted  and  nervous, 
herself  worried  almost  sick  over 
Father's  condition,  was  guilty  once  in 
a  while  out  of  the  depths  of  her  anxi- 

£139] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


ety  of  nagging  back  again.  So  do  we 
hurt  those  whom  we  love  best  as  we 
would  and  could  hurt  no  other. 

"I  told  yer  I  never  could  stand  it 
here  amongst  all  these  dratted  women 
folks,"  Abe  would  declare.  "It  's  all 
your  fault  that  I  did  n't  go  to  the  poor- 
house  in  peace." 

"I  notice  yew  did  n't  raise  no  objec 
tions  until  yew  'd  lived  here  a  year," 
Angy  would  retort;  but  ignoring  this 
remark,  he  would  go  on : 

"It  's  'Brother  Abe'  this  an' 
'Brother  Abe'  that !  as  ef  I  had  thirty 
wives  a-pesterin'  me  instid  of  one.  I 
can't  kill  a  fly  but  it  's  'Brother  Abe, 
lemme  bury  him  fer  yew.'  Do  yer  all 
think  I  be  a  baby?"  demanded  the  old 
gentleman  with  glaring  eye.  "I  guess 
I  'm  able  ter  do  somethin'  fer  myself 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

once  in  a  while,  I  hain't  so  old  as  some 
folks  might  think,"  he  continued  with 
superb  inconsistence.  "I  be  a  mere 
child  compared  with  that  air  plagued 
Nancy  Smith." 

It  took  very  little  to  exhaust  Angy's 
ability  for  this  style  of  repartee,  and 
she  would  rejoin  with  tender  but  mis 
taken  efforts  to  soothe  and  comfort  him : 

"Thar,  thar,  Father!  don't  git  ex 
cited  neow.  Seems  ter  me  ye  're  a 
leetle  bit  feverish.  Ef  only  yew  'd  take 
this  here  tansy  tea." 

Abraham  would  give  one  exasper 
ated  glance  at  the  tin  cup  and  mutter 
into  the  depths  of  his  beard : 

"Tansy  tea  an'  old  women!  Old 
women  an'  tansy  tea!  Tansy  tea  be 
durned!" 

Abe   failed  perceptibly  during  the 


summer,  grew  feebler  as  the  autumn 
winds  blew  in,  and  by  November  he 
took  to  his  bed  and  the  physician  of 
the  Home,  a  little  whiffet  of  a  pompous 
idiot,  was  called  to  attend  him.  The 
doctor,  determined  at  the  start  to  make 
a  severe  case  of  the  old  man's  affliction 
in  order  that  he  might  have  the  greater 
glory  in  the  end,  be  it  good  or  bad, 
loo*ked  very  grave  over  Abraham's 
tongue  and  pulse,  prescribed  medicine 
for  every  half-hour,  and  laid  especial 
stress  upon  the  necessity  of  keeping 
the  patient  in  bed. 

"Humbug!"  growled  the  secretly 
terrified  invalid,  and  in  an  excess  of 
bravado  took  his  black  silk  necktie 
from  where  it  hung  on  the  bedpost  and 
tied  it  in  a  bow-knot  around  the  collar 
of  his  pink-striped  nightshirt,  so  that 
£142  3 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

he  would  be  in  proper  shape  to  receive 
any  of  the  sisters.  Then  he  lay  very 
still,  his  eyes  closed,  as  they  came  tip 
toeing  in  and  out.  Their  tongues  were 
on  gentle  tiptoe  too,  although  not  so 
gentle  but  that  he  could  hear  them  ad 
vising:  one,  a  "good,  stiff  mustard  plas 
ter";  one,  an  "onion  poultice";  an 
other,  a  "Spanish  blister" ;  while  Aunt 
Nancy  stopped  short  of  nothing  less 
than  "old-fashioned  bleeding."  Abe 
lay  very  still  and  wondered  if  they 
meant  to  kill  him.  He  was  probably 
going  to  die  anyhow,  so  why  torment 
him.  Only  when  he  was  dead,  he 
hoped  that  they  would  think  more; 
kindly  of  him.  And  so  surrounded 
yet  alone,  the  old  man  fought  his  secret 
terror  until  mercifully  he  went  to 
sleep. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


When  he  awoke  there  were  the  sis 
ters  again;  and  day  after  day  they 
spent  their  combined  efforts  in  keeping 
him  on  his  back  and  forcing  him  to 
take  his  medicine,  the  only  appreciable 
good  resulting  therefrom  being  the 
fact  that  with  this  tax  upon  their  devo 
tion  the  old  ladies  came  once  more  to 
regard  Abe  as  the  most  precious  pos 
session  of  the  Home. 

"What  ef  he  should  die?"  they  whis 
pered  among  themselves,  repentant 
enough  of  their  late  condemnation  of 
him  and  already  desolate  at  the  thought 
of  his  leaving  this  little  haven  with 
them  for  the  "great  haven"  over  there ; 
and  the  whisper  reaching  the  sick 
room,  Abe's  fever  would  rise,  while  he 
could  never  lift  his  lashes  except  to  see 
the  specter  of  helpless  old  age  on  one 
D44:] 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

side  of  the  bed  and  death  upon  the 
other. 

"What  's  the  matter  with  me?"  he 

i 

demanded  of  the  doctor,  as  one  who 
would  say:  "Pooh!  pooh!  You  're  a 
humbug !  What  do  you  mean  by  keep 
ing  me  in  bed?"  Yet  the  old  man  was 
trembling  with  that  inner  fear.  The 
physician,  a  feminine  kind  of  a  bearded 
creature  himself,  took  Abe's  hand  in 
his— an  engaging  trick  he  had  with 
the  old  ladies. 

"Now,  my  friend,  do  not  distress 
yourself.     Of  course,  you  are  a  very 

sick  man;  I  cannot  deceive  you  as  to 
i 

that;  but  during  my  professional  ca 
reer,  I  have  seen  some  remarkable 
cases  of  recovery  and—" 

"But  what  's  the  matter  with  me?" 
broke  in  Abe,  by  this  time  fairly  white 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


with  fear.  The  doctor  had  assured 
him  that  all  his  organs  were  sound,  so 
he  could  only  conclude  that  he  must 
have  one  of  those  unusual  diseases 
such  as  Miss  Abigail  was  reading 
about  in  the  paper  yesterday.  Maybe, 
although  his  legs  were  so  thin  to-day, 
he  was  on  the  verge  of  an  attack  of 
elephantiasis ! 

"What  's  the  matter  with  me?"  he 
repeated,  his  eyes  growing  wilder  and 
wilder. 

What  the  doctor  really  replied  would 
be  difficult  to  tell;  but  out  of  the  con 
fusion  of  his  technicalities  Abe  caught 
the  words,  "nerves"  and  "hysteria." 

"Mother,  yew  hear  that?"  he  cried. 
"I  got  narvous  hysterics.  I  told  yer 
somethin'  would  happen  ter  me  a-com- 
in'  to  this  here  place.  All  them  old 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

woman's  diseases  is  ketchin'.  Why  on 
'arth  did  n't  yer  let  me  go  to  the  poor- 
house?" 

He  fell  back  on  the  pillow  and  drew 
the  bedclothes  up  to  his  ears,  while 
Angy  followed  the  doctor  out  into  the 
hall  to  receive,  as  Abe  supposed,  a  more 
detailed  description  of  his  malady.  He 
felt  too  weak,  however,  to  question 
Angy  when  she  returned,  and  stub 
bornly  kept  his  eyes  closed  until  he 
heard  Mrs.  Homan  tiptoe  into  the  room 
to  announce  in  hushed  tones  that 
Blossy  and  Samuel  Darby  were  below, 
and  Samuel  wanted  to  know  if  he 
might  see  the  invalid. 

Then  Abe  threw  off  the  covers  in  a 
hurry  and  sat  up.  "Sam'l  Darby?"  he 
asked,  the  strength  coming  back  into 
his  voice.  "A  man!  Nary  a  woman 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


ner  a  doctor!  Yes— yes,  show  him 
up!" 

Angy  nodded  in  response  to  Mrs. 
Roman's  glance  of  inquiry;  for  had 
not  the  doctor  told  her  that  it  would 
not  hasten  the  end  to  humor  the  patient 
in  any  reasonable  whim  ?  And  she  also 
consented  to  withdraw  when  Abe  in 
formed  her  that  he  wished  to  be  left 
alone  with  his  visitor,  as  it  was  so  long 
since  he  had  been  face  to  face  with  a 
man  "an'  no  petticoat  a-hangin'  'round 
the  corner." 

"Naow,  be  keerful,  Cap'n  Darby," 
the  little  mother-wife  cautioned  at  the 
door,  "be  very  keerful.  Don't  stay  tew 
long  an'  don't  rile  him  up,  fer  he  's 
dretful  excited,  Abe  is." 


r.148] 


XI 

MENTAL  TREATMENT 

ETTLE  Samuel  Darby  paused  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed  and  stared  at 
Abe  without  saying  a  word,  while  Abe 
fixed  his  dim,  distressed  eyes  on  his 
visitor  with  a  dumb  appeal  for  assist 
ance.  Samuel  looked  a  very  different 
man  from  the  old  bachelor  who  used 
to  come  a-wooing  every  six  months  at 
the  Home.  Either  marriage  had 
{brought  him  a  new  growth  of  hair,  or 
else  Blossy  had  selected  a  new  wig  for 
him— a  modest,  close,  iron-gray  which 
fitted  his  poll  to  perfection.  Marriage 
or  Blossy  had  also  overcome  in  Samuel 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


that  tendency  to  hang  his  head  "to 
starb'd" ;  and  now  he  lifted  his  bright 
eyes  with  the  manner  of  one  who  would 
say: 

"See !  I  'm  king  of  myself  and  my 
household!  Behold  what  one  woman 
has  done  for  me !"  And  in  turn  Abe's 
unstrung  vigor  and  feeble  dependence 
cried  out  as  loudly:  "I  have  n't  a  leg 
left  to  stand  on.  Behold  what  too  much 
woman  has  done  for  me !" 

"Ain't  yew  a-goin'  ter  shake  hands  ?" 
inquired  Abraham  at  last,  wondering 
at  the  long  silence  and  the  incompre 
hensible  stare,  his  fears  accentuated 
by  this  seeming  indication  of  a  supreme 
and  hopeless  pity.  "Ain't  yew  a-goin' 
ter  shake  hands?  Er  be  yew  afeard 
of  ketchin'  it,  tew?" 

For  a  moment  longer  Samuel  con- 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


tinued  to  stare,  then  of  a  sudden  he 
roared,  "Git  up!" 

"Huh?"  queried  Abe,  not  believing 
his  own  ears.  "Why,  Cap'n  Sam'l, 
don't  yew  know  that  I  'm  a  doomed 
man  ?  I  got  the  'narvous  hysterics/  ' 

"Yew  got  the  pip !"  retorted  Captain 
Darby  contemptuously,  and  trotting 
quickly  around  to  the  side  of  the  bed, 
he  seized  Abe  by  the  shoulders  and  be 
gan  to  drag  him  out  upon  the  floor, 
crying  again,  "Git  up !" 

The  sick  man  could  account  for  this 
remarkable  behavior  in  no  way  except 
by  concluding  that  his  old  captain  had 
gone  into  senile  dementia— oh,  cruel, 
cruel  afflictions  that  life  brings  to  old 
folks  when  life  is  almost  done !  Well, 
thought  Abe,  he  would  rather  be  sick 
and  die  in  his  right  mind  than  go 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


crazy.  He  began  to  whimper,  where 
upon  Samuel  threw  him  back  upon  his 
pillows  in  disgust. 

"Cryin' !  Oh,  I  swan,  he  's  cryin' !" 
Darby  gave  a  short  laugh  pregnant 
with  scorn.  "Abe  Rose,  dew  yew  know 
what  ails  yew?"  he  demanded  fixing 
his  eyes  fiercely  upon  the  invalid. 
"Dew  yew  know  what  '11  happen  tew 
yew  ef  yew  don't  git  out  o'  this  bed  an' 
this  here  house?  Either  yer  beard  '11 
fall  out  an'  yew  '11  dwindle  deown  ter 
the  size  o'  a  baby  or  yew  '11  turn  into  a 
downright  old  woman — Aunt  Abra 
ham! — won't  that  sound  nice?  Or 
yew  '11  die  or  yew  '11  go  crazy.  Git  out 
er  bed!" 

The  patient  shook  his  head  and  sank 
back,  closing  his  eyes,  more  exhausted 
than  ever.  And  he  himself  had  heard 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


Angy  warn  this  man  in  a  whisper  not 
to  "rile  him  up !"  Remorselessly  went 
on  the  rejuvenated  Darby : 

"Hain't  a-goin'  ter  git  up,  heh? 
Yew  old  mollycoddle !  Yew  baby !  Old 
Lady  31!  Kiffy  calf!  But  I  hain't 
a-blamin'  yew;  ef  I  had  lived  in  this 
here  place  a  year  an'  a  half,  I  'd  be 
stark,  starin'  mad!  Leetle  tootsie- 
wootsie!  Git  up!" 

Abe  had  opened  his  eyes  and  was 
once  more  staring  at  the  other,  his 
mind  slowly  coming  to  the  light  of  the 
realization  that  Samuel  might  be  more 
sane  than  himself. 

"That's  what  I  told  Angy  all  along," 
he  ventured.  "I  told  her,  I  says,  says 
I,  'Humbug!  Foolishness!  Ye  're 
a-makin'  a  reg'lar  baby  of  me.  Why,' 
I  says,  'what  's  the  difference  between 
D533 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

me  an'  these  here  women-folks  except 
that  I  wear  a  beard  an'  smoke  a  pipe?' ' 

"Then  why  don't  yew  git  up?"  de 
manded  the  inexorable  Samuel.  "Git 
up  an'  fool  'em;  or,  gosh-all-hemlock ! 
they  '11  be  measurin'  yew  fer  yer  coffin 
next  week.  When  I  come  inter  the 
hall,  what  dew  yew  think  these  here 
sisters  o'yourn  wasa-discussin'?  They 
was  a-arguin'  the  p'int  as  to  whether 
they  'd  bury  yew  in  a  shroud  or  yer 
Sunday  suit." 

Abraham  put  one  foot  out  of  bed. 
Samuel  took  hold  of  his  arm  and  with 
this  assistance  the  old  man  managed 
to  get  up  entirely  and  stand,  though 
shaking  as  if  with  the  palsy,  upon  the 
floor. 

"Feel  pooty  good,  don't  yew?"  de 
manded  Samuel,  but  with  less  severity. 
[154] 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


"A  leetle  soft,  a  leetle  soft,"  mut 
tered  the  other.  "Gimme  my  cane. 
Thar,  ef  one  o'  them  women  comes  in 
the  door  I  '11— I  '11—"  Abraham  raised 
his  stick  and  shook  it  at  the  innocent 
air.  "Whar  's  my  pipe?  Mis'  Homan, 
she  went  an'  hid  it  last  week." 

After  some  searching,  Samuel  found 
the  pipe  in  Abe's  hat-box  underneath 
the  old  man's  beaver,  and  produced 
from  his  own  pocket  a  package  of  to 
bacco,  whereupon  the  two  sat  down 
for  a  quiet  smoke,  Samuel  chuckling 
to  himself  every  now  and  again,  Abe 
modestly  seeking  from  time  to  time  to 
cover  his  bare  legs  with  the  skirt  of  his 
pink-striped  night-robe,  not  daring  to 
reach  for  a  blanket  lest  Samuel  should 
call  him  names  again.  With  the  very 
first  puff  of  his  pipe,  the  light  had 

D55:] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


come  back  into  the  invalid's  eyes ;  with 
the  second,  the  ashen  hue  completely 
left  his  cheek;  and  when  he  had  pulled 
the  tenth  time  on  the  pipe,  Abe  was 
ready  to  laugh  at  the  sisters,  the  whole 
world,  and  even  himself. 

"Hy-guy,  but  it  's  splendid  to  feel 
like  a  man  ag'in !" 

The  witch  of  Hawthorne's  story 
never  gazed  more  fondly  at  her 
"Feathertop"  than  Samuel  now  gazed 
at  Abraham  puffing  away  on  his  pipe; 
but  he  determined  that  Abraham's  fate 
should  not  be  as  poor  "Feathertop's." 
Abe  must  remain  a  man. 

"Naow  look  a-here,  Abe,"  he  began 
after  a  while,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
other's  knee,  "dew  yew  know  that  yew 
come  put'  nigh  gittin'  swamped  in  the 
big  breakers?  Ef  I  had  n't  come 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


along  an'  throwed  out  the  life-line, 
yew—" 

"Sam'l,"  interrupted  the  new  Abra 
ham,  not  without  a  touch  of  asperity, 
"whar  yew  been  these  six  months? 
A-leavin'  me  ter  die  of  apron-strings 
an'  doctors !  Of  course  I  did  n't  'spect 
nuthin'  o'  yew  when  yew  was  jist  a 
bachelor,  an'  we  'd  sort  o'  lost  sight  er 
each  other  fer  many  a  year,  but  arter 
yew  got  connected  with  the  Hum  by 
marriage  sorter—" 

"Connected  with  the  Hum  by  mar 
riage!"  broke  in  Samuel  with  a  snort 
of  indignant  protest.  "Me!"  Words 
failed  him.  He  stared  at  Abe  with 
burning  eyes,  but  Abe  only  insisted 
sullenly: 

"Whar  yew  an'  Blossy  been  all  this 
time?" 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"Dew  yew  mean  ter  tell  me,  Abe 
Rose,  that  yew  did  n't  know  that  Aunt 
Nancy  forbid  Blossy  the  house  'cause 
she  did  n't  go  an'  ask  her  permission 
ter  git  spliced?  Oh,  I  f ergot,"  he 
added.  "Yew  'd  gone  up-stairs  ter  take 
a  nap  that  day  we  come  back  from  the 
minister's." 

Abraham  flushed.  He  did  not  care 
to  recall  Samuel's  wedding-day.  He 
hastened  to  ask  the  other  what  had 
decided  him  and  Blossy  to  come  to 
day,  and  was  informed  that  Miss  Abi 
gail  had  written  to  tell  Blossy  that  if 
she  ever  expected  to  see  her  "Brother 
Abe"  alive  again,  she  must  come  over 
to  Shoreville  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment. 

"Then  I  says  ter  Blossy,"  concluded 
Captain  Darby,  "I  says,  says  I,  'Jest 
C'583 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


lemme  see  that  air  pore  old  hen-pecked 
Abe  Rose.  I  '11  kill  him  er  cure  him !' 
I  says.  Here,  yer  pipe  Js  out.  Light 
up  ag'in !" 

Abe  struck  the  match  with  a  trem 
bling  hand,  unnerved  once  more  by  the 
speculation  as  to  what  might  have  hap 
pened  had  Samuel's  treatment  worked 
the  other  way. 

"I  left  Blossy  an'  Aunt  Nancy 
a-huggin'  an'  a-kissin'  down-stairs." 

Abe  sighed :  "Aunt  Nancv  allers  was 
more  bark  than  bite." 

"Humph!  Barkin'  cats  must  oe 
tryin'  ter  live  with.  Abe,"  he  tapped 
the  old  man's  knee  again,  "dew  yew 
know  what  yew  need?  A  leetle  vaca 
tion,  a  change  of  air.  Yew  want  ter 
cut  loose  from  this  all-fired  old  ladies' 
shebang  an'  go  sky-larkin'."  Abe  hung 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


on  Samuel's  words,  his  eyes  a-twinkle 
with  anticipation.  "Yes — yes,  go  sky- 
larkin' !  Won't  we  make  things  hum  ?" 

"Thar  's  hummin'  an'  hummin',"  ob 
jected  Abe,  with  a  sudden  show  of  cau 
tion.  "Miss  Abigail  thinks  more  o' 
wash-day  than  some  folks  does  o* 
heaven.  Wharabouts  dew  yew  cak'- 
late  on  a-goin'  ?" 

"Tew  Bleak  Hill !" 

Abraham's  face  lost  its  cautious 
look,  his  eyes  sparkled  once  more.  Go 
back  to  the  Life-saving  Station  where 
he  had  worked  in  his  lusty  youth — 
back  to  the  sound  of  the  surf  upon  the 
shore,  back  to  the  pines  and  cedars  of 
the  Beach,  out  of  the  bondage  of  dry 
old  lavender  to  the  goodly  fragrance 
of  balsam  and  sea-salt !  Back  to  active 
life  among  men! 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


"Men,  men,  nawthin'  but  men!" 
Samuel  exploded  as  if  he  had  read  the 
other's  thought.  "Nawthin'  but  men 
jfer  a  hull  week,  that 's  my  perscription 
fer  yew!  Haow  dew  yew  feel  naow, 
mate?" 

For  answer  Abe  made  a  quick  spring 
out  of  his  chair,  and  in  his  bare  feet 
commenced  to  dance  a  gentle,  rheu- 
matic-toe-considering  breakdown,  cry 
ing,  "Hy-guy,  Cap'n  Sam'l,  you  Ve 
saved  my  life !"  .  While  Darby  clapped 
his  hands  together,  proud  beyond  mea 
sure  at  his  success  as  the  emancipator 
of  his  woman-ridden  friend. 

Neither  heard  the  door  open  nor  saw 
Angy  standing  on  the  threshold,  half 
paralyzed  with  fear  and  amazement, 
thinking  that  she  was  witnessing  the 
mad  delirium  of  a  dying  man.  until  she 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


called  out  her  husband's  name.  At  the 
sound  of  her  frightened  voice,  Abe 
stopped  short  and  reached  for  the 
blanket  with  which  to  cover  himself. 

"Naow  don't  git  skeered,  Mother, 
don't  git  skeered,"  he  abjured  her. 
"I  'm  all  right  in  my  head.  Cap'n 
Sam'l  here,  he  brung  me  some  wonder 
ful  medicine.  He — " 

"Blossy  said  you  did!"  interrupted 
Angy,  a  light  of  intense  gratitude 
flashing  across  her  face  as  she  turned 
eagerly  to  Darby.  "Lemme  see  the 
bottle." 

"I  chucked  it  out  o'  the  winder,"  af 
firmed  Samuel  without  winking,  and 
Abe  hastened  to  draw  Angy's  atten 
tion  back  to  himself. 

"See,  Mother,  I  kin  stand  as  good 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


as  anybody;  hain't  got  no  fever;  I  kin 
walk  alone.  Yew  seen  me  dancin'  jest 
naow,  tew.  An'  ef  I  had  that  pesky 
leetle  banty  rooster  of  a  doctor  here, 
I  'd  kick  him  all  the  way  deown-stairs. 
Cap'n  Sam'l  's  wuth  twenty-five  o' 
him." 

"Yew  kept  the  perscription,  did  n't 
yer,  cap'n  ?"  demanded  Angy.  "Naow 
ef  he  should  be  took  ag'in  an' — " 

Samuel  turned  away  and  coughed. 

"Mother,  Mother,"  cried  Abe,  "shet 
the  door  an'  come  set  deown  er  all  the 
sisters  '11  come  a-pilin*  in.  I  Ve  had  a 
invite,  I  have!" 

Angy  closed  the  door  and  came  for 
ward,  her  wary  suspicious  eye  trailing 
from  the  visitor  to  her  husband. 

"Hy-guy,  ain't  it  splendid!"  Abe 
D63:] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

burst  forth.  "Me  an'  Cap'n  Sam'l  here 
is  a-goin'  over  ter  Bleak  Hill  fer  a 
week." 

"Bleak  Hill  in  December!"  Angy 
cried,  aghast.  "Naow,  see  here, 
Father,"  resolutely,  "medicine  er  no 
medicine— 

"He  's  got  ter  git  hardened  up," 
firmly  interposed  Dr.  Darby;  "it  '11  be 
the  makin'  o'  him." 

Angy  turned  on  Samuel  with  ruffled 
feathers. 

"He  '11  freeze  ter  death.  Yew 
shan't-" 

Here  Abe's  stubborn  will,  so  rarely 
set  against  Angy's  gentle  persistence, 
rose  up  in  defiance : 

"We  're  a-gwine  on  a  reg'lar  A  No.  I 
spree  with  the  boys,  an'  no  women 
folks  is  a-goin'  ter  stop  us  neither." 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


"When?"  asked  Angy  faintly,  feel 
ing  Abe's  brow,  but  to  her  surprise 
finding  it  cool  and  healthy. 

"Ter-morrer !"  proclaimed  Samuel; 
whereupon  Abe  looked  a  little  dubious 
and  lifted  up  his  two  feet,  wrapped  as 
they  were  in  the  blanket,  to  determine 
the  present  strength  of  his  legs. 

"Don't  yer  think  yer  'd  better  make 
it  day  after  ter-morrer?"  he  ventured. 

"Or  'long  erbout  May  er  June?" 
Angy  hastily  amended. 

Samuel  gave  an  exasperated  grunt. 

"See  here,  whose  spree  is  this?" 
Abe  demanded  of  the  little  old  wife. 

She  sighed,  then  resolved  on  strat 
egy: 

"Naow,  Abe,  ef  yew  be  bound  an* 
possessed  ter  go  ter  the  Beach,  yew 
go ;  but  I  'm  a-goin'  a-visitin'  tew,  an' 

£165  3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


I  could  n't  git  the  pair  o}  us  ready  in 
side  a  week.  I  'm  a-goin'  deown  ter 
see  Blossy.  She  ast  me  jist  naow, 
pendin',  she  says,  Cap'n  Sam'l  here 
cures  Abe  up  ernough  ter  git  him  off. 
I  thought  she  was  crazy  then." 

Samuel  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe  against  the  window-sil!  and  arose 
to  go. 

"Waal,"  he  said  grudgingly,  "make 
it  a  week  from  ter-day  then,  rain  er 
shine,  snow  er  blow,  er  a  blizzard.  Ef 
yer  ever  a-goin'  ter  git  hardened,  Abe, 
naow  's  the  time !  I  '11  drive  over  'long 
erbout  ten  o'clock  an'  git  somebody  ter 
sail  us  from  here;  er  ef  the  bay  freezes 
over  'twixt  naow  an'  then,  ter  take  us 
in  a  scooter." 

A  "scooter,"  it  may  be  explained,  is 
an  ice-boat  peculiar  to  the  Great  South 


MENTAL  TREATMENT 


Bay— a  sort  of  modified  dingy  on  run 
ners. 

"Yes— yes,  a  scooter,"  repeated 
Samuel,  turning  suddenly  on  Abe  with 
the  sharp  inquiry:  "Air  yew  a-shiv- 
erin'  ?  Hain't,  eh  ?  Waal  then,  a  week 
from  ter-day,  so  be  it!"  he  ended.  "But 
me  an'  Blossy  is  a-comin'  ter  see  yew 
off  an'  on  pooty  frequent  meanstwhile ; 
an',  Abe,  ef  ever  I  ketch  yew  a-layin' 
abed,  I  '11  leave  yew  ter  yer  own  de 
struction." 


£167:1 


XII 

A  PASSEL  OF  MEDDLERS 


AsTGY'S  secret  hope  that  Abe  would 
change  his  mind  and  abandon 
the   projected  trip   to  the   Beach   re 
mained  unfulfilled,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  cold  weather  suddenly  descended 
on  the  South  Side,  and  the  bay  became 
first  "scummed"   over  with  ice,   and 
then  frozen  so  solid  that  all  its  usual 
f  craft  disappeared,  and  the  "scooters" 
hook  possession  of  the  field. 

Abe  and  Samuel  held  stubbornly  to 

their  reckless  intentions;  and  the  sis 

ters,  sharing  Angy's  anxiety,  grew  so 

licitous  almost  to  the  point  of  active 

[168] 


"A  PASSEL  OF  MEDDLERS" 

interference.  They  withheld  nothing 
in  the  way  of  counsel,  criticism,  or 
admonition  which  could  be  offered. 
•  "Naow,"  said  Mrs.  Homan  in  her 
most  commanding  tones  at  the  end  of 
a  final  discussion  in  the  big  hall,  on  the 
evening  before  the  date  set  for  depar 
ture,  "ef  yew  're  bound,  bent,  an'  de 
termined,  Brother  Abe,  to  run  in  the 
face  of  Providence,  yew  want  tew 
mind  one  thing,  an'  wear  yer  best  set 
of  flannels  ter-morrer." 

"Sho,  thar  hain't  no  danger  of  me 
ketchin'  cold,"  decried  Abe. 

"I  did  n't  say  yer  thickest  set  of 
flannels ;  I  said  yer  best.  When  a  man 
gits  throwed  out  onto  the  iceker  flump, 
the  thickness  of  his  clo'es  ain't  goin' 
to  help  him  much.  The  fust  thing  I 
allus  taught  my  husbands  was  to  have 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

everything  clean  an'  whole  on,  when 
thar  was  any  likelihood  of  a  sudden 
death." 

"Yew  'spect  me  tew  go  an'  prink  up 
fer  a  sudden  death?"  thundered  Abra 
ham.  "I  hain't  never  heard  tell  on  a 
scooter  a-killin'  nobody  yit;  it  's  them 
plagued  ice-boats  up  State  what— 

"That  's  all  very  well,"  persisted 
Mrs.  Roman,  not  to  be  diverted  from 
her  subject;  "but  when  old  Dr.  Billings 
got  run  over  by  the  train  at  Mastic 
Crossin'  on  Fourth  o'  July  eight  year 
ago,  his  wife  told  me  with  her  own  lips 
that  she  never  would  git  over  it,  cuz 
he  had  his  hull  big  toe  stickin'  out  o' 
the  end  of  his  stockin'.  I  tell  yew, 
these  days  we  've  got  tew  prepare  fer 
a  violent  end." 

The  patient  Angy  somewhat  tartly 


"A  PASSEL  OF  MEDDLERS" 

retorted,  that  during  the  last  week  she 
had  spent  even  more  time  upon  Father's 
wardrobe  than  she  had  upon  her  own ; 
while  Abe  inwardly  rejoiced  to  think 
that  for  seven  days  to  come — seven 
whole  days — he  and  Angy  would  be 
free  from  the  surveillance  of  the  sis 
ters. 

Mrs.  Homan,  in  no  way  nonplussed, 
boomed  on : 

"Thar,  I  most  fergot  about  his  neck 
tie.  'Course,  they  don't  dress  up  much 
at  the  Station;  but  jest  the  same  that 
air  tie  o'  yourn,  Brother  Abe,  is  a  dis 
grace.  I  told  yew  yew  'd  spile  it 
'a-wearin'  it  tew  bed.  Naow,  I  got  a 
red  an'  green  plaid  what  belonged  to  my 
second  stepson,  Henry  O.  He  never 
would  'a'  died  o'  pneumony,  either,  ef 
he  'd  a-rook  my  advice  an'  made  him- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


self  a  newspaper  nightcap  last  time  he 
substituted  with  the  'Savers.  An'  yew 
kin  have  that  necktie  jest  as  well  as 
not.  Naow,  don't  say  a  word;  I  'm 
better  able  to  part  with  it  'n  yew  be  not 
to  take  it." 

No  one  ever  attempted  the  fruitless 
task  of  stopping  Mrs.  Homan  once 
fully  launched;  but  when  at  last  she 
permitted  her  back  to  rest  against  her 
chair,  folding  her  arms  with  the  man 
ner  of  one  who  makes  a  sacrifice  in  a 
worthy  cause,  Abe  broke  into  an  ex 
plosive  protest. 

If  any  one  fretted  him  in  his  some 
what  fretful  convalescence,  it  was  this 
grenadier  member  of  the  household, 
who  since  Blossy's  marriage  had  en 
deavored  to  fill  the  vacant  post  of 
"guardeen  angel." 


"A  PASSEL  OF  MEDDLERS" 

"Mis'  Horrian,"  he  sputtered,  rising 
to  his  feet,  "I  would  n't  wear  a  red  an* 
green  plaid  tie  to  a  eel's  funeral !" 

Then  with  a  somewhat  ungracious 
"good-night"  to  the  company  in  gen 
eral,  he  trudged  across  the  hall  and  up 
the  stairs,  muttering  something  to 
himself  about  a  "passel  of  meddlers." 

Well-meaning  Miss  Abigail,  who 
had  been  nodding  half  asleep,  roused 
herself  to  call  after  him,  and  he  paused 
unwillingly  to  heed. 

"Naow,  don't  yew  lose  no  sleep  ter- 
night,"  she  admonished,  "a-worryin' 
erbout  the  change  in  yer  vittles.  I 
told  Cap'n  Sam'l  that  hardtack  an' 
sech  like  would  n't  never  do  fer  yer 
weak  stummick,  an'  he  promised  me 
faithful  he  'd  send  somebody  tew  the 
mainland  every  day  fer  milk." 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"Dew  yew  think  I  be  a  baby?" 
shouted  Abraham,  turning  on  his  heel. 
"I  know  now  what  makes  my  teeth  so 
sore  lately,"  mumbling  to  himself; 
"it  's  from  this  here  arrer-root  an'  all 
these  puddin'y  messes.  They  need 
hardenin',  tew." 


£174:1 


XIII 
THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE 

A  B  RAH  AM  was  up  betimes  in  the 
ji\.  morning  to  greet  a  day  crisp  and 
cold,  quiet,  yet  with  sufficient  breeze 
stirring  the  evergreens  in  the  yard 
outside  to  make  him  predict  a  speedy 
voyage. 

The  old  man  was  nervous  and  ex 
cited,  and,  in  spite  of  his  buoyant  an 
ticipations,  somewhat  oppressed,  now 
that  the  day  had  actually  come,  with  a 
sense  of  timidity  and  fear.  Still,  he 
put  on  a  bold  face  while  Angeline 
fastened  his  refractory  collar  and  tied 
his  cravat. 

This  was  neither  Mrs.  Roman's  of- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

fering  nor  Abe's  own  old,  frayed  tie, 
but  a  new  black  one  which  had  mysteri 
ously  been  thrust  through  the  crack 
under  the  door  during  the  night. 

So,  the  last  finishing  touches  having 
been  put  upon  his  toilet,  and  Angy 
having  made  ready  by  lamplight  for 
her  own  trip,  even  before  the  old  man 
was  awake,  there  seemed  nothing  left 
to  be  done  until  the  breakfast  bell 
should  ring. 

Abe  sat  down,  and  looking  hard  at 
his  open  carpet-bag  wondered  audibly 
if  they  had  "everythin'  in."  The  last 
time  they  two  had  packed  Abe's  ward 
robe  for  a  visit  to  Bleak  Hill  had  been 
many  years  ago,  when  Samuel  Darby, 
though  somewhat  Abe's  junior,  was 
keeper  of  the  Life-saving  Station,  and 
Abe  was  to  be  gone  for  a  whole  sea- 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE 

son's  duty.  Then  all  of  his  posses 
sions  had  been  stowed  in  a  long, 
bolster-like  canvas  bag  for  the  short 
voyage. 

Both  Angy  and  her  husband  recalled 
that  time  now — the  occasion  of  their 
first,  and  almost  of  their  last,  real  sepa 
ration. 

"A  week  '11  pass  in  no  time,"  mur 
mured  Angy  very  quickly,  with  a  catch 
in  her  voice.  "Lookin'  ahead,  though, 
seven  days  seems  awful  long  when  yer 
old;  but—  Oh,  law,  yes;  a  week  '11 
pass  in  no  time,"  she  repeated.  "Only 
dew  be  keerful,  Abe,  an'  don't  take 
cold." 

She  perched  herself  on  her  little 
horsehair  trunk  which  she  had  packed 
to  take  to  Blossy's,  looking  in  her  time- 
worn  silk  gown  like  a  rusty  blackbird, 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


and,  like  a  bird,  she  bent  her  head  first 
to  one  side  and  then  the  other,  survey 
ing  Abe  in  his  "barrel  clothes"  with  a 
critical  but  complimentary  eye. 

"Wonder  who  made  that  necktie?" 
she  questioned.  "I  '11  bet  yer  't  was 
Aunt  Nancy ;  she 's  got  a  sharp  tongue, 
but  a  lot  of  silk  pieces  an'  a  tender 
spot  in  her  heart  fer  yew,  Abe.  Ruby 
Lee  says  she  never  thought  yew  'd 
bring  her  around;  yew  're  dretful 
takin'  in  yer  ways,  Father,  thar  's  no 
use  a-talkin'." 

Abraham  glanced  at  himself  in  the 
glass,  and  pulled  at  his  beard,  his  coun 
tenance  not  altogether  free  from  a 
self-conscious  vanity. 

"I  hain't  sech  a  bad-lookin'  feller 
when  I  'm  dressed  up,  be  I,  Mother? 
I  dunno  ez  it  's  so  much  fer  folks  ter 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE 

say  I  look  like  Abe  Lincoln,  after  all; 
he  was  dretful  humbly." 

"Father,"  Angy  said  coaxingly, 
"why  don't  yer  put  some  o'  that  air 
'sweet  stuff'  Miss  Abigail  give  yer  on 
yer  hair?  She  '11  feel  real  hurt  ef  she 
don't  smell  it  on  yer  when  yew  go 
down-stairs." 

Abe  made  a  wry  face,  took  up  the 
tiny  bottle  of  "Jockey  Club,"  and 
rubbed  a  few  drops  on  his  hands.  His 
hands  would  wash,  and  so  he  could 
find  some  way  of  removing  the  odor 
before  he  reached  the  station  and — 
the  men. 

"I  '11  be  some  glad  ter  git  away  from 
these  here  fussy  old  hens  fer  a  spell," 
he  grumbled,  as  he  slammed  the  vial 
back  on  the  bureau;  but  Angy  looked 
iso  reproachful  and  grieved  that  he 

D793 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

felt  ashamed  of  his  ingratitude,  and 
asked  with  more  gentleness: 

"Yew  goin'  ter  miss  me,  Mother?" 

Then  the  old  wife  was  ashamed  to 
find  herself  shaking  of  a  sudden,  and 
grown  wretchedly  afraid— afraid  of 
the  separation,  afraid  of  the  "harden 
ing"  process,  afraid  of  she  knew  not 
what. 

"I  'm  glad  't  ain't  goin'  ter  be  fer  all 
winter  this  time,"  she  said  simply;  then 
arose  to  open  the  door  in  order  that  he 
might  not  see  the  rush  of  tears  to  her 
foolish,  old  eyes. 

According  to  the  arrangement,  Cap 
tain  Darby  was  to  drive  over  from 
Twin  Coves  with  his  hired  man,  and 
Ezra,  after  taking  the  two  old  men  to 
the  bay,  was  to  return  to  the  Home  for 
Angy  and  her  little  trunk. 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE 

When  Samuel  drove  up  to  the  front 
door,  he  found  Abe  pacing  the  porch, 
his  coat-collar  turned  up  about  his 
neck,  his  shabby  fur  cap  pulled  over 
his  brow,  his  carpet-bag  on  the  step, 
and,  piled  on  the  bench  at  the  side  of 
the  door,  an  assortment  of  woolen  ar 
ticles  fully  six  feet  high,  which  after 
ward  developed  to  be  shawls,  capes, 
hoods,  comforters,  wristlets,  leggings, 
nubias,  fascinators,  guernseys,  blank 
ets,  and  coats. 

Abe  was  fuming  and  indignant, 
scornful  of  the  contributions,  and  vow 
ing  that,  though  the  sisters  might  re 
gard  a  scooter  as  a  freight  ocean-liner, 
he  would  carry  nothing  with  him  but 
what  he  wore  and  his  carpet-bag. 

"An'  right  yer  be,"  pronounced 
Samuel,  with  a  glance  at  the  laden 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


bench  and  a  shake  of  his  head  which 
said  as  plainly  as  words,  "Brother, 
from  what  am  I  not  delivering  thee?" 

The  sisters  came  bustling  out  of  the 
door,  Mrs.  Roman  in  the  lead,  Angy 
submerged  in  the  crowd,  and  from 
that  moment  there  was  such  a  fuss,  so 
much  excitement,  so  many  instruc 
tions  and  directions  for  the  two  adven 
turers,  that  Abraham  found  himself 
in  the  carriage  before  he  had  kissed 
Angy  good-by. 

He  had  shaken  hands,  perhaps  not 
altogether  graciously,  with  every  one 
else,  even  with  the  deaf-and-dumb  gar 
dener  who  came  out  of  his  hiding-place 
to  witness  the  setting-out.  Being  dared 
to  by  all  the  younger  sisters,  he  had 
waggishly  brushed  his  beard  against 
Aunt  Nancy  Smith's  cheek,  and  then 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE 

he  had  taken  his  place  beside  Samuel 
without  a  touch  or  word  of  parting  to 
his  wife. 

He  turned  in  his  seat  to  wave  to  the 
group  on  the  porch,  his  eyes  resting  in 
a  sudden  hunger  upon  Angeline's  frail, 
slender  figure,  as  he  remembered.  She 
knew  that  he  had  forgotten  in  the 
flurry  of  his  leave-taking,  and  she 
would  have  hastened  down  the  steps 
to  stop  the  carriage;  but  all  the  old 
ladies  were  there  to  see,  and  she  simply 
stood,  and  gazed  after  the  vehicle  as 
it  rolled  away  slowly  behind  the  jog 
trot  of  Samuel's  safe,  old  calico-horse. 
She  stood  and  looked,  holding  her  chin 
very  high,  and  trying  to  check  its  un 
steadiness. 

A  sense  of  loneliness  and  desolation 
fell  over  the  Home.  Piece  by  piece 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


the  sisters  put  away  all  the  clothing 
they  had  offered  in  vain  to  Abe.  They 
said  that  the  house  was  already  dull 
without  his  presence.  Miss  Abigail 
began  to  plan  what  she  should  have 
for  dinner  the  day  of  his  return. 

No  one  seemed  to  notice  Angy.  She 
felt  that  her  own  departure  would  cre 
ate  scarcely  a  stir;  for,  without  Abra 
ham,  she  was  only  one  of  a  group  of 
poor,  old  women  in  a  semi-charity 
home. 

Slowly  she  started  up  the  stairs  for 
her  bonnet  and  the  old  broche  shawl. 
When  she  reached  the  landing,  where 
lay  the  knitted  mat  of  the  three-star 
pattern,  the  matron  called  up  to  her  in 
tragic  tones : 

"Angy  Rose,  I  jest  thought  of  it. 
He  never  kissed  yew  good-by !" 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  DEPARTURE 

Angy  turned,  her  small,  slender  feet 
sinking  deep  into  one  of  the  woolly 
stars,  her  slim  figure  encircled  by  the 
light  from  the  upper  hall  window.  She 
saw  a  dozen  faces  uplifted  to  her,  and 
she  answered  with  quiet  dignity: 

"Abe  would  n't  think  of  kissin'  me 
afore  folks." 

Then  quickly  she  turned  again,  and 
went  to  her  room — their  room — where 
she  seated  herself  at  the  window,  and 
pressed  her  hand  against  her  heart 
which  hurt  with  a  new,  strange,  unfa 
miliar  pain,  a  pain  that  she  could  not 
have  shown  "afore  folks." 


XIV 

CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS 


usual  hardy  pleasure-seekers 
JL  that  gather  at  the  foot  of  Shore 
Lane  whenever  the  bay  becomes  a  field 
of  ice  and  a  field  of  sport  as  well  were 
there  to  see  the  old  men  arrive,  and  as 
they  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  there 
came  forward  from  among  the  group 
gathered  about  the  fire  on  the  beach 
the  editor  of  the  "Shoreville  Herald." 
Ever  since  his  entrance  into  the  Old 
Ladies'  Home,  Abe  had  never  stopped 
chafing  in  secret  over  the  fact  that 
until  he  died,  and  no  doubt  received  a 
worthy  obituary,  he  might  never  again 
"have  his  name  in  the  paper." 
r.186] 


CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS 

In  former  days  the  successive  edi 
tors  of  the  local  sheet  had  been  willing, 
nay,  eager,  to  chronicle  his  doings  and 
Angy's,  whether  Abe's  old  enemy, 
rheumatism,  won  a  new  victory  over 
him  or  Angy's  second  cousin  Ruth 
came  from  Riverhead  to  spend  the  day 
or— wonder  indeed  to  relate!— the  old 
man  mended  his  roof  or  painted  the 
front  fence.  No  matter  what  happened 
of  consequence  to  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Rose,  Mr.  Editor  had  always  been 
zealous  to  retail  the  news — before  the 
auction  sale  of  their  household  effects 
marked  the  death  of  the  old  couple, 
and  of  Abe  especially,  to  the  social 
world  of  Shoreville.  What  man 
would  care  to  read  his  name  between 
the  lines  of  such  a  news  item  as 
this? 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


The  Old  Ladies'  Home  is  making  prep 
arations  for  its  annual  quilting  bee.  Dona 
tions  of  worsted, cotton  batting,  and  linings 
will  be  gratefully  received. 

Mr.  Editor  touched  his  cap  to  the 
two  old  men.  He  was  a  keen-faced, 
boyish  little  man  with  a  laugh  bigger 
than  himself,  but  he  always  wore  a 
worried  air  the  day  before  his  paper, 
a  weekly,  wfent  to  press,  and  he  wore 
that  worried  look  now.  Touching  his 
hand  to  his  fur  cap,  he  informed  Sam 
uel  and  Abe  that  news  was  "as  scarce 
as  hens'  teeth";  then  added:  "What  's 
doing?" 

"Oh,  nawthin',  nawthin',"  hastily 
replied  Samuel,  who  believed  that  he 
hated  publicity,  as  he  gave  Abe's  foot 
a  sly  kick.  "We  was  jest  a-gwine  ter 
take  a  leetle  scooter  sail."  He  adjusted 


CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS 

the  skirt  of  his  coat  in  an  effort  to  hide 
Abe's  carpet-bag,  his  own  canvas 
satchel,  and  a  huge  market-basket  of 
good  things  which  Blossy  had  cooked 
for  the  life-savers.  "Seen  anythink 
of  that  air  Eph  Seaman?"  Samuel 
added,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand 
and  peering  out  upon  the  gleaming 
surface  of  the  bay,  over  which  the 
white  sails  of  scooters  were  darting 
like  a  flock  of  huge,  single-winged 
birds. 

"Eph  's  racing  with  Captain  Bill 
Green,"  replied  the  newspaper  man. 
"Captain  Bill  's  got  an  extra  set  of 
new  runners  at  the  side  of  his  scooter 
and  wants  to  test  them.  Say,  boys," 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
old  fellows,  "so  you  're  going  scooter- 
ing,  eh  ?  Lively  sport !  Cold  kind  of 
D893 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


sport  for  men  of  your  age.  Do  you 
know,  I  've  a  good  mind  to  run  in  to 
morrow  an  article  on  'Long  Island  and 
Longevity/  Taking  head-fine,  eh?  t 
Captain  Rose/'  turning  to  Abe  as 
Samuel  would  do  no  more  than  glower 
at  him,  "to  what  do  you  attribute  your 
good  health  at  your  time  of  life?" 

Abe  grinned  all  over  his  face  and 
cleared  his  throat  importantly,  but  be 
fore  he  could  answer,  Samuel  growled : 

"Ter  me!  His  health  an'  his  life 
both.  I  dragged  him  up  out  of  a  death 
bed  only  a  week  ago." 

The  editor  took  out  his  note-book 
and  began  scribbling. 

"What  brought  you  so  low,  Captain 
Rose?"  he  inquired  without  glancing 
up.  Again,  before  Abe  could  answer, 
Samuel  trod  on  his  toe. 


CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS 

"Thirty  mollycoddling  women 
folks." 

Abe  found  his  voice  and  slammed 
the  fist  of  one  hand  against  the  palm 
of  the  other. 

"If  you  go  an'  put  that  in  the  paper, 
I  '11-1  '11-" 

Words  failed  him.  He  could  see  the 
sisters  fairly  fighting  for  the  posses 
sion  of  the  "Shoreville  Herald"  to-mor 
row  evening,  as  they  always  scrambled 
each  for  the  first  glance  at  the  only 
copy  taken  at  the  Home,  and  he  could 
hear  one  reading  his  name  aloud — 
reading  of  the  black  ingratitude  of 
their  brother  member. 

"Jest  say,"  he  added  eagerly,  "that 
the  time  fer  old  folks  ter  stick  home 
under  the  cellar-door  has  passed,  an' 
nobody  is  tew  old  ter  go  a-gallivantin' 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

nowadays.  An'  then  yew  might  men 
tion"— the  old  man's  face  was  shining 
now  as  he  imagined  Angy's  pleasure— 
"that  Mis'  Rose  is  gone  deown  ter 
Twin  Coves  ter  visit  Mis'  Sam'l  Darby 
fer  a  week,  an'  Cap'n  Darby  an'  Cap'n 
Abraham  Rose,"  his  breast  swelling 
out,  "is  a-goin'  ter  spend  a  week  at 
Bleak  Hill.  Thar,  hain't  that  Cap'n 
Eph  a-scootin'  in  naow?  I  guess  them 
air  new  runners  o'  Bill  Green's  did  n't 
work.  He  hain't  nowhere  in  sight. 
He-" 

"Le*  's  be  a-gwine,  Abe,"  inter 
rupted  Samuel,  and  leaving  the  editor 
still  scribbling,  he  led  the  way  down 
the  bank  with  a  determined  trudge,  his 
market-basket  in  one  hand,  his  grip  in 
the  other,  and  his  lips  muttering  that 
"a  feller  could  n't  dew  nuthin'  in 


CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS 

Shoreville  without  gittin'  his  name  in 
the  paper."  But  a  moment  later,  when 
the  two  were  walking  gingerly  over  the 
ice  to  the  spot  where  Eph  had  drawn 
his  scooter  to  a  standstill,  Samuel  fell 
into  a  self-congratulatory  chuckle. 

"He  did  n't  find  out  though  that  I 
had  my  reasons  fer  leavin'  home  tew. 
Women-folks,  be  it  only  one,  hain't 
good  all  the  time  fer  nobody.  I  come 
ter  see  Blossy  twict  a  year  afore  we 
was  married  reg'lar ;  an'  naow,  I  cak'- 
late  ter  leave  her  twict  a  year  fer  a 
spell.  A  week  onct  every  six  months 
separate  an'  apart,"  proceeded  the  re 
cently  made  benedict,  "is  what  makes 
a  man  an'  his  wife  learn  haow  ter 
put  up  with  one  another  in  between- 
times." 

"Why,  me  an'  Angy,"  began  Abe, 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"have  lived  tergether  year  in  an'  year 
out  fer— " 

"All  aboard!"  interrupted  Captain 
Eph  with  a  shout.  "It  's  a  fair  wind. 
I  bet  on  making  it  in  five  minutes  and 
fifty  seconds!" 

Seven  minutes  had  been  the  record 
time  for  the  five-mile  sail  over  the  ice 
to  Bleak  Hill,  but  Samuel  and  Abe, 
both  vowing  delightedly  that  the  skip 
per  could  n't  go  too  fast  for  them, 
stepped  into  the  body  of  the  boat  and 
squatted  down  on  the  hard  boards. 
They  grinned  at  each  other  as  the 
scooter  started  and  Eph  jumped  aboard 
—grinned  and  waved  to  the  people  on 
the  shore,  their  proud  old  thoughts 
crying: 

"I   guess   folks   will   see  now   that 
we  're  as  young  as  we  ever  was !" 
D94] 


CUTTING  THE  APRON-STRINGS 

They  continued  to  grin  as  the  boat 
spun  into  full  flight  and  went  whizz 
ing  over  the  ice,  whizzing  and  bump 
ing  and  bouncing.  Both  their  faces 
grew  red,  their  two  pairs  of  eyes  began 
to  water,  their  teeth  began  to  chatter; 
but  Samuel  shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  in  defiance  of  the  gale : 

"Abe,  we  Ve  cut  the  apron-strings !" 
"Hy-guy!"  Abe  shouted  in  return, 
his  heart  flying  as  fast  as  the  sail,  back 
to  youth  and  manhood  again,  back  to 
truant-days  and  the  vacation-time  of 
boyhood.  "Hy-guy,  Sam'l!  Hain't 
we  a-gwine  ter  have  a  reg'lar  A  No.  I 
spree!" 


CI9S3 


XV 
THE  "HARDENING"  PROCESS 

r  I  AHE  Life-saving  Station  was  very 
A.  still.  Nos.  3  and  5  had  gone  out 
on  the  eight-o'clock  patrol.  The  sev 
enth  man  was  taking  his  twenty-four 
hours  off  at  his  home  on  the  shore. 
The  keeper  was  working  over  his  re 
port  in  the  office.  The  other  members 
of  the  crew  were  up-stairs  asleep,  and 
Abe  and  Samuel  were  bearing  each 
other  company  in  the  mess-room. 

Abe  lay  asleep  on  the  carpet-covered 
sofa  which  had  been  dragged  out  of 
the  captain's  room  for  him,  so  that  the 
old  man  need  not  spend  the  night  in 
the  cold  sleeping-loft  above.  He  was 


THE   "HARDENING"  PROCESS 

fully  dressed  except  for  his  boots;  for 
he  was  determined  to  conform  to  the 
rules  of  the  Service,  and  sleep  with  his 
clothes  on  ready  for  instant  duty. 

"Talk  erbout  him  a-dyin' !"  growled 
Samuel  to  himself,  lounging  wearily 
in  a  chair  beside  the  stove.  "He  's  jest 
startin'  his  life.  He  's  a  reg'lar  hoss. 
I  did  n't  think  he  had  it  in  him." 

Samuel's  tone  was  resentful.  He 
was  a  little  jealous  of  the  distinction 
which  had  been  made  between  him  and 
Abe ;  and  drawing  closer  to  the  fire,  he 
shivered  in  growing  distaste  for  the 
cot  assigned  to  him  with  the  crew  up 
stairs,  where  the  white  frost  lay  on  the 
window-latches. 

What  uncomfortable  chairs  they  had 
in  this  station !  Samuel  listened  to  the 
mooing  of  the  breakers,  to  the  wind 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


rattling  at  the  casements, — and  won 
dered  if  Blossy  had  missed  him.  About 
this  time,  she  must  be  sitting  in  her 
chintz-covered  rocker,  combing  out 
the  ringlets  of  her  golden-white  hair 
in  the  cheery  firelight. 

Now,  that  would  be  a  sight  worth 
seeing!  Abe  opened  his  mouth  and 
began  to  snore.  What  disgusting, 
hideous  creatures  men  were,  reflected 
Samuel.  Six  months'  living  with  an 
unusually  high-bred  woman  had  in 
sensibly  raised  his  standards. 

Why  should  he  spend  a  week  of  his 
ever-shortening  life  with  such  inferior 
beings,  just  for  Abraham's  sake — for 
Abraham's  sake,  and  to  bear  out  a  the 
ory  of  his  own,  which  he  had  already 
concluded  a  mistake? 

Abe  gave  a  snort,  opened  his  eyes, 

£1983 


THE   "HARDENING"  PROCESS 

and  muttered  sleepily :  "This  is  what  I 
call  a  A  No.  i  spree.  Naow,  ter-mor- 
rer — "  But  mumbling  incoherently 
he  relapsed  into  slumber,  puffing  his 
lips  out  into  a  whistling  sound. 

Samuel  reached  for  a  newspaper  on 
the  table,  folded  it  into  a  missile,  and 
started  to  fling  it  into  the  innocent  face 
of  the  sleeper.  But,  fortunately  for 
Abraham,  it  was  Captain  Darby's  cus 
tom  to  count  ten  whenever  seized  by 
an  exasperated  impulse,  and  at  the 
ninth  number  he  regretfully  dropped 
the  paper. 

Then  he  began  to  count  in  another 
way.  Using  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  as  a  marker,  he  counted  under 
his  breath,  "one"  on  his  left  thumb, 
then  after  a  frowning  interval,  "two" 
on  his  left  forefinger,  "three"  on  the 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


middle  digit,  and  so  on,  giving  time 
for  thought  to  each  number,  until  he 
had  exhausted  the  ringers  of  his  left 
hand  and  was  ready  to  start  on  the 
right. 

Count,  count,  went  Samuel,  until 
thrice  five  was  passed,  and  he  began  to 
be  confused. 

Once  more  Abe  awoke,  and  inquired 
if  the  other  were  trying  to  reckon  the 
number  of  new  wigwags  and  signals 
which  the  Service  had  acquired  since 
they  had  worked  for  the  government; 
but  on  being  sharply  told  to  "Shet  up !" 
went  to  sleep  again. 

What  the  projector  of  the  trip  was 
really  trying  to  recall  was  how  many 
times  that  day  he  had  regretted  saving 
Abe  from  the  devastating  clutches  of 
the  old  ladies. 

[200] 


THE   "HARDENING"   PROCESS 

"Him  need  hardenin'?"  muttered 
Samuel  blackly.  "Why,  he  's  harder 
now  'n  nails  an'  hardtack!" 

Again  he  ran  over  on  his  fingers  the 
list  of  high  crimes  and  misdemeanors 
of  which  Abe  had  been  guilty. 

First,— thumb,  left  hand,— Abe  had 
insisted  on  extending  their  scooter  sail 
until  he,  Samuel,  had  felt  his  toes 
freezing  in  his  boots. 

Second, — forefinger,  left  hand, — on 
being  welcomed  by  the  entire  force  at 
Bleak  Hill  and  asked  how  long  they 
expected  to  stay,  Abe  had  blurted  out, 
"A  hull  week,"  explaining  that  Sam 
uel's  rule  requiring  at  least  seven  days 
of  exile  from  his  wife  every  six  months 
barred  them  from  returning  in  less 
time. 

The  keeper  was  a  widower,  all  the 
[201  3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

other  men  bachelors.  How  could  they 
be  expected  to  understand?  They 
burst  into  a  guffaw  of  laughter,  and 
Abe,  not  even  conscious  that  he  had 
betrayed  a  sacred  confidence,  sputtered 
and  laughed  with  the  rest. 

Samuel  had  half  a  mind  to  return 
to-morrow,  "jest  to  spite  'em."  Let  's 
see,  how  many  days  of  this  plagued 
week  were  left?  Six.  Six  whole 
twenty-four  hours  away  from  Blossy 
and  his  snug,  warm,  comfortable  nest. 

She  was  n't  used  to  keepin'  house  by 
herself,  neither.  Would  she  remember 
to  wind  the  clock  on  Thursday,  and 
feed  the  canary,  and  water  the  abu- 
tilon  and  begonias  reg'lar? 

Grimly  Samuel  took  up  offense  No. 
3.  Abraham  had  further  told  the  men 
that  he  had  been  brought  over  here  for 
[202] 


THE   "HARDENING"  PROCESS 

a  hardening  process ;  but  he  was  willing 
to  bet  that  if  Samuel  could  keep  up 
with  him,  he  could  keep  up  with  Sam 
uel. 

Then  followed  offense  on  offense. 
Was  Samuel  to  be  outdone  on  his  own 
one-time  field  of  action  by  an  old  ladies' 
darling?  No! 

When  Abe  sat  for  a  half-hour  in  the 
lookout,  up  in  the  freezing,  cold  cu 
pola,  and  did  duty  "jest  to  be  smart," 
Samuel  sat  there  on  top  of  his  own 
feet,  too. 

When  Abe  helped  drag  out  the  ap 
paratus-cart  over  the  heavy  sands  for 
the  drill,  Samuel  helped,  too.  And  how 
tugging  at  that  rope  brought  back  his 
lumbago ! 

When  Abe  rode  in  the  breeches- 
buoy,  Samuel  insisted  on  playing  the 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


sole  survivor  of  a  shipwreck,  too,  and 
went  climbing  stiffly  and  lumberingly 
up  the  practice-mast. 

Abraham  refused  to  take  a  nap  after 
dinner ;  so  did  Samuel.  Abe  went  down 
to  the  out-door  carpenter-shop  in  the 
grove,  and  planed  a  board  just  for  the 
love  of  exertion.  Samuel  planed  two 
boards  and  drove  a  nail. 

"We  've  got  two  schoolboys  with 
us,"  said  the  keeper  and  the  crew. 

"Ef  I  'd  a-knowed  that  yew  had 
more  lives  'n  my  Maltese  cat,"  Samuel 
was  muttering  over  Abe  by  this  time, 
"I  >d_» 

Count,  count  went  Captain  Darby's 
fingers.  He  heard  the  keeper  rattling 
papers  in  the  office  just  across  the 
threshold,  heard  him  say  he  was  about 
to  turn  in,  and  guessed  Samuel  had 


THE   "HARDENING"  PROCESS 

better  do  likewise ;  but  Samuel  kept  on 
counting. 

Count,  count  went  the  arraigning 
fingers.  Gradually  he  grew  drowsy, 
but  still  he  went  over  and  over  poor 
Abe's  offenses,  counting  on  until  of  a 
sudden  he  realized  that  he  was  no 
longer  numbering  the  sins  of  his  com 
panion;  he  was  measuring  in  minutes 
the  time  he  must  spend  away  from 
Blossy  and  Twin  Coves,  and  the  bego 
nias,  and  the  canary,  and  the  cat. 

What  would  Blossy  say  if  she  could 
feel  the  temperature  of  the  room  in 
which  he  was  supposed  to  sleep  ?  What 
would  Blossy  say  if  she  knew  how  his 
back  ached?  Whatever  would  Blossy 
do  to  Abe  Rose  if  she  could  suspect  how 
he  had  tuckered  out  her  "old  man  ?" 

"He  's  a  reg'lar  hoss,"  brooded  Sam- 
[205;] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

uel.  "Oh,  my  feet!"  grabbing  at  his 
right  boot.  "I  '11  bet  yer  all  I  got  it  's 
them  air  chilblains.  That 's  what,"  he 
added,  unconsciously  speaking  aloud. 

Abe's  lids  slowly  lifted.  He  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  yawned.  He  turned  his 
head  on  his  hard,  blue  gingham-cov 
ered  pillow,  and  stared  sleepily  at  the 
other. 

"Yew  been  noddin',  Sam'l?  Ain't 
gittin'  sleepy  a'ready,  are  yer?"  He 
glanced  at  the  clock.  "Why,  it  's  only 
half  past  nine.  Say,  what  's  the  mat 
ter  with  me  an'  yew  goin'  west  ter  meet 
No.  5?  Leetle  breath  o'  fresh  air  '11 
make  us  sleep  splendid." 

He  started  up  from  the  couch,  but 
dropped  back,  too  heavy  with  weari 
ness  to  carry  off  his  bravado.  Samuel, 
however,  not  noticing  the  discrepancy 
[206;] 


THE   "HARDENING"  PROCESS 

between  speech  and  action,  was  already 
at  the  door  leading  up-stairs. 

"Yew  don't  drag  me  out  o'  this  sta 
tion  ter-night,  Abe  Rose.  Yew  're  a 
reg'lar  hoss;  that  's  what  yew  be.  A 
reg'lar  hoss!  A  reg'lar— a  reg'lar—" 

He  flung  open  the  door  and  went 
trudging  as  fast  as  his  smarting  feet 
could  carry  him  up  the  steep  and  nar 
row  steps,  wherein  the  passing  of  other 
feet  for  many  years  had  worn  little 
hollows  on  either  side. 

Abraham  limped  from  the  couch  to 
the  door  himself,  and  called  after  him : 

"Sam'l,  don't  yew  want  tew  sleep 
by  the  fire?  Yew  seem  a  leetle  softer 
than  I  be.  Let  me  come  up-stairs." 

There  was  no  answer  beyond  the 
vicious  slamming  of  Samuel's  boots 
upon  the  floor  above. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Abe  raised  his  voice  again,  and  now 
came  in  answer  a  roar  of  wrath  from 
the  cot  next  to  Samuel's. 

"Go  to  bed !"  shouted  No.  6,  a  burly, 
red-headed  Irishman.  "Go  to  bed,  wid 
ye!  Th'  young  folks  do  be  nadin'  a 
little  schlape !" 


£208] 


XVI 


REG'LAR  HOSS" 


BE  flung  himself  back  on  his  hard 
couch,  drew  the  thick,  gray 
blanket  over  him,  and  straightway  fell 
into  a  deep,  childlike  slumber  from 
which  he  was  aroused  by  the  rough 
but  hearty  inquiry : 

"Say,  Cap,  like  to  have  some  oyster- 
stew  and  a  cup  of  coffee?" 

Abe  sat  up,  rubbing  his  eyes,  won 
dering  since  when  they  had  begun  to 
serve  oyster-stew  for  breakfast  on  the 
Beach;  then  he  realized  that  he  had 
not  overslept,  and  that  it  was  not  morn 
ing. 

The  clock  was  striking  twelve,  the 

[209] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


midnight  patrol  was  just  going  out, 
and  the  returning  "runners"  were  bid- 
rling  him  partake  of  the  food  they  had 
just  prepared  to  cheer  them  after  their 
cold  tramp  along  the  surf. 

The  old  man  whiffed  the  smell  of 
the  coffee,  tempted,  yet  withheld  by 
the  thought  of  Angy's  horror,  and  the 
horror  of  the  twenty-nine  sisters. 

"Cap'n  Abe"— Clarence  Havens, 
.No.  5,  with  a  big  iron  spoon  in  his 
hand  and  a  blue  gingham  apron  tied 
around  his  bronzed  neck,  put  him  on 
his  mettle,  however — "Cap'n  Abe,  I 
tell  yew,  we  would  n't  have  waked  no 
other  fellow  of  your  age  out  of  a  sound 
sleep.  Cap'n  Darby,  he  could  snooze 
till  doomsday;  but  we  knowed  you 
would  n't  want  to  miss  no  fun  a-go- 
ing." 

C2IO] 


"A  REG'LAR  HOSS" 


"Cap'n  Sam'l  does  show  his  years," 
Abe  admitted.  "Much  obliged  fer  yew 
a-wakin'  me  up,  boys,"  as  he  drew  on 
his  boots.  "I  was  dreamin'  I  was  hun 
gry.  Law,  I  wish  I  had  a  dollar  apiece 
fer  all  the  eyester-stews  I  've  et  on  this 
here  table  'twixt  sunset  an'  sunrise." 

Under  the  stimulus  of  the  unaccus 
tomed  repast,  Abe  expanded  and  be 
gan  to  tell  yarns  of  the  old  days  on  the 
Beach— the  good  old  days.  His  cheeks 
grew  red,  his  eyes  sparkled.  He 
smoked  and  leaned  back  from  the  ta 
ble,  and  ate  and  drank,  smoked  and  ate 
again. 

"A  week  amongst  yew  boys,"  he  as 
serted  gaily,  "is  a-goin'  tew  be  the 
makin'  of  me.  Haow  Sam'l  kin  waste 
so  much  time  in  sleep,  I  can't  under 
stand." 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"I  don't  think  he  is  asleep,"  said  No. 
3.  "When  I  was  up-stairs  jest  now 
fer  my  slippers,  I  heard  him  kind  o' 
sniffin'  inter  his  piller." 

The  laugh  which  followed  brought 
the  keeper  out  of  the  office  in  his  car 
pet  slippers,  a  patchwork  quilt  over  his 
shoulders.  His  quick  eyes  took  in  the 
scene— the  lamp  sputtering  above  the 
table,  the  empty  dishes,  the  two  mem 
bers  of  the  crew  sleepily  jocular,  with 
their  blue  flannel  elbows  spread  over 
the  board,  the  old  man's  rumpled  bed, 
and  his  brilliant  cheeks  and  bright  eyes. 

"Boys,  you  should  n't  have  woke  up 
Cap'n  Rose,"  he  said  reprovingly. 
"I  'm  afraid,  sir,"  turning  to  Abra 
ham,  "that  you  find  our  manners 
pretty  rough  after  your  life  among  the 
old  ladies." 

£212] 


"A  REG'LAR  HOSS" 


Abe  dropped  his  eyes  in  confusion. 
Was  he  never  to  be  rid  of  those  apron- 
strings? 

"Well,  there  's  worse  things  than 
good  women,"  proceeded  the  captain. 
"I  wish  we  had  a  few  over  here."  He 
sighed  with  the  quiet,  dull  manner  of 
the  men  who  have  lived  long  on  the 
Beach.  "Since  they  made  the  rule  that 
the  men  must  eat  and  sleep  in  the 
station,  it  's  been  pretty  lonely. 
That  's  why  there  's  so  many  young 
fellows  in  the  Service  nowadays; 
married  men  with  families  won't  take 
the  job." 

'Them  empty  cottages  out  thar," 
admitted  Abe,  pointing  to  the  window, 
"does  look  kind  o'  lonesome  a-goin'  ter 
rack  an*  ruin.  Why,  the  winter  I  was 
over  here,  every  man  had  his  wife  an' 

£213] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


young  'uns  on  the  Beach,  'cept  me  an' 
Sam'l." 

Again  the  keeper  sighed,  and  drew 
his  coverlid  closer.  "Now,  it  's  just 
men,  men,  nothing  but  men.  Not  a 
petticoat  in  five  miles;  and  I  tell  you, 
sometimes  we  get  mad  looking  at  one 
another,  don't  we,  boys  ?" 

The  two  young  men  had  sobered, 
and  their  faces  also  had  taken  on  that 
look  engendered  by  a  life  of  dull  rou 
tine  among  sand-hills  at  the  edge  of  a 
lonely  sea,  with  seldom  the  sound  of 
a  woman's  voice  in  their  ears  or  the 
prattle  of  little  children. 

"For  two  months  last  winter  nobody 
came  near  us,"  said  Havens,  "and  we 
could  n't  get  off  ourselves,  either,  half 
the  time.  The  bay  broke  up  into  por 
ridge-ice  after  that  big  storm  around 


"A  REG'LAR  HOSS" 


New  Year's ;  yew  dasn't  risk  a  scooter 
on  it  or  a  cat-boat.  Feels  to  me,"  he 
added,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  "as  if  it 
was  blowin'  up  a  genuwine  old  nor'- 
easter  again." 

The  other  man  helped  him  clear  the 
table.  "I  'm  goin'  to  get  married  in 
June,"  he  said  suddenly,  "and  give  up 
this  here  blamed  Service." 

"A  wife,"  pronounced  Abe,  carrying 
his  own  dishes  into  the  kitchen,  "is 
dretful  handy,  onct  yew  git  used  to  her." 

The  keeper  went  into  the  office  with 
a  somewhat  hurried  "Good-night,"  and 
soon  Abe  found  himself  alone  again, 
the  light  in  the  kitchen  beyond,  no 
sound  in  the  room  save  that  of  the 
booming  of  the  surf,  the  rattling  of 
the  windows,  and  now  and  again  the 
fall  of  a  clinker  in  the  stove. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


The  old  man  was  surprised  to  find 
that  he  could  not  fall  back  into  that 
blissful  slumber  again.  Not  sleeping, 
he  had  to  think.  He  thought  and 
thought,— sober  night  thoughts, — 
while  the  oysters  ''laid  like  a  log  in  his 
stummick"  and  the  coffee  seemed  to 
stir  his  brain  to  greater  activity. 

"Suppose,"  said  the  intoxicated 
brain,  "another  big  storm  should 
swoop  down  upon  you  and  the  bay 
should  break  up,  and  you  and  Samuel 
should  be  imprisoned  on  the  beach  for 
two  or  three  months  with  a  handful  of 
men-folks !" 

"Moo!  Moo!"  roared  the  breakers 
on  the  shore.  "Serve  you  right  for 
finding  fault  with  the  sisters !" 

Come  to  think  of  it,  if  he  had  not 
been  so  ungracious  of  Miss  Abigail's 


'A  REG'LAR  HOSS" 


concern  for  him,  he  would  now  be  in 
possession  of  a  hop  pillow  to  lull  him 
back  to  sleep.  Well,  he  had  made  his 
bed,  and  he  would  have  to  lie  on  it,(. 
although  it  was  a  hard  old  carpet-cov 
ered  lounge.  Having  no  hop  pillow, 
he  would  count  sheep — 

One  sheep  going  over  the  fence,  two 
sheep,  three —  How  tired  he  was! 
How  his  bones  ached!  It  's  no  use 
talking,  you  can't  make  an  old  dog  do 
the  tricks  of  his  puppy  days.  What 
an  idiot  he  had  been  to  climb  that  prac 
tice-mast  !  If  he  had  fallen  and  broken 
his  leg? 

Four  sheep.  Maybe  he  was  too  oldv 
for  gallivanting,  after  all.  Maybe  he 
was  too  old  for  anything  except  just 
to  be  "mollycoddled"  by  thoughtful 
old  ladies.  Now,  be  honest  with  your- 
C2I7] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


self,  Abe.  Did  you  enjoy  yourself  to 
day — no,  yesterday?  Did  you?  Well, 
yes  and— no!  Now,  if  Angy  had  been 
along! 

Angy !  That  was  why  he  could  not 
go  to  sleep !  He  had  forgotten  to  kiss 
her  good-by!  Wonder  if  she  had  no 
ticed  it?  Wonder  if  she  had  missed 
him  more  on  account  of  that  neglect? 
Pshaw !  What  nonsense !  Angy  knew 
he  wa'n't  no  hand  at  kissin',  an'  it  was 
apt  to  give  him  rheumatism  to  bend 
down  so  far  as  her  sweet  old  mouth. 

He  turned  to  the  wall  at  the  side  of 
the  narrow  lounge,  to  the  emptiness 
where  her  pillow  should  be.  "Good 
night,  Mother,"  he  muttered  huskily. 
Mother  did  not  answer  for  the  first 
time  in  nights  beyond  the  counting. 
Mother  would  not  be  there  to  answer 


"A  REG'LAR  HOSS" 


for  at^least  six  nights  to  come.  A 
week,  thought  this  old  man,  as  the 
other  old  man  had  reflected  a  few  hours 
before,  is  a  long  time  when  one  has 
passed  his  threescore  years  and  ten, 
and  with  each  day  sees  the  shadows 
growing  longer. 

Abraham  put  out  his  hard  time- 
shrunken  hand  and  touched  in  thought 
his  wife's  pillow,  as  if  to  persuade 
himself  that  she  was  really  there  in  her 
place  beside  him.  He  remembered 
when  first  he  had  actually  touched  her 
pillow  to  convince  himself  that  she 
was  really  there,  too  awed  and  too 
happy  to  believe  that  his  youth's  dream 
had  come  true;  and  he  remembered 
now  how  his  gentle,  strong  hand  had 
crept  along  the  linen  until  it  cupped 
itself  around  her  cheek;  and  he  had 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


felt  the  cheek  grow  hot  with  blushes 
in  the  darkness.  She  had  not  been 
"Mother"  then;  she  had  been  "Dear 
est!"  Would  she  think  that  he  was 
growing  childish  if  he  should  call  her 
"Dearest"  now? 

Smiling  to  himself,  he  concluded  that 
he  would  try  the  effect  of  the  tender 
term  when  he  reached  home  again. 
He  drew  his  hand  back,  whispering 
once  more,  "Good-night,  Mother." 
Then  he  fancied  he  could  hear  her  say 
in  her  soft,  reassuring  tone,  "Good 
night,  Father."  Father  turned  his 
back  on  the  empty  wall,  praying  with 
a  sudden  rush  of  passionate  love  that 
when  the  last  call  should  come  for  him, 
it  would  be  after  he  had  said  "Good 
night,  Mother,"  to  Angy  and  after  she 
had  said  "Good-night,  Father,"  to  him, 

C220] 


'A  REG'LAR  HOSS" 


and  that  they  might  wake  somewhere, 
somehow,  together  with  God,  saying, 
"Good-morning,  Mother,"  "Good- 
morning,  Father!"  And  "Fair  is  the 
day!" 


XVII 

THE  DESERTER 

T   dawn   the   Station   was   wide- 


awake  and  everybody  out  of  bed. 
Samuel  crept  down-stairs  in  his  stock 
ing-feet,  his  boots  in  his  hand,  his  eyes 
heavy  with  sleeplessness,  and  his  wig 
awry.  He  shivered  as  he  drew  close 
to  the  fire,  and  asked  in  one  breath 
for  a  prescription  for  chilblains  and 
where  might  Abe  be.  Abe's  lounge 
was  empty  and  his  blankets  neatly 
folded  upon  it. 

The  sunrise  patrol  from  the  east, 
who   had  just   returned,   made   reply 

[222] 


THE  DESERTER 


that  he  had  met  Captain  Abe  walking 
along  the  surf  to  get  up  an  appetite 
for  his  griddle-cakes  and  salt  pork. 
Samuel  sat  down  suddenly  on  the 
lounge  and  opened  his  mouth. 

"Did  n't  he  have  enough  exercise' 
yist'day,  for  marcy's  sake !  Put'  nigh 
killed  me.  I  was  that  tired  las'  night 
I  could  n't  sleep  a  wink.  I  declar',  ef 
't  wa'n't  fer  that  fool  newspaper 
a-comin'  out  ter-night,  I  'd  go  home 
ter-day.  Yer  a-gwine  acrost,  hain't 
yer,  Havens?" 

Havens  laughed  in  response. 
Samuel  glowered  at  him. 

"I  want  home  comforts  back,"  he 
vowed  sullenly.  "The  Beach  hain't 
what  it  used  ter  be.  Goin'  on  a  pic 
nic  with  Abe  Rose  is  like  settin'  yer 
teeth  into  a  cast-iron  stove  lid  covered 
[223  3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


with  a  thin  layer  o'  puddin'.  I  'm 
a-goin'  home." 

The  keeper  assured  him  that  no  one 
would  attempt  to  detain  him  if  he 
found  the  Station  uncomfortable,  and 
that  if  he  preferred  to  leave  Abraham 
behind,  the  whole  force  would  take 
pleasure  in  entertaining  the  more  ac 
tive  old  man. 

"That  old  feller  bates  a  phono: 
graph,"  affirmed  the  Irishman.  "It  's 
good  ter  hear  that  he  '11  be  left  anyhow 
for  comp'ny  with  this  storm  a-comin' 
up." 

Samuel  rushed  to  the  window,  for 
up-stairs  the  panes  had  been  too  frosty 
for  him  to  see  out.  A  storm  coming  up  ? 
The  beach  did  look  gray  and  desolate, 
dun-colored  in  the  dull  light  of  the 
early  day,  with  the  winter-killed  grass 
024;] 


THE  DESERTER 


and  the  stunted  green  growth  of  cedar 
and  holly  and  pine  only  making 
splotches  of  darkness  under  a  gray  sky 
which  was  filled  with  scurrying  clouds. 
The  wind,  too,  had  risen  during  the 
night,  and  the  increased  roar  of  the 
surf  was  telling  of  foul  weather  at  sea. 

A  storm  threatening !  And  the  pleas 
ant  prospect  of  being  shut  in  at  the 
beach  with  the  cast-iron  Abraham  and 
these  husky  life-savers  for  the  remain 
der  of  the  winter!  No  doubt  Abe 
would  insist  upon  helping  the  men  with 
the  double  duties  imposed  by  thick 
weather,  and  drag  Samuel  out  on  pa 
trol. 

"When  dew  yew  start,  Havens?" 
demanded  Samuel  in  shaking  tones. 
"Le'  's  get  off  afore  Abe  gits  back  an' 
tries  ter  hold  me.  He  seems  ter  be  so 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


plagued  stuck  on  the  life  over  here, 
he  '11  think  I  must  be  tew." 

But,  though  Havens  had  to  wait  for 
the  return  of  the  man  who  had  gone 
off  duty  yesterday  morning,  still  Abe 
had  not  put  in  an  appearance  when 
Samuel  and  the  life-saver  trudged  down 
the  trail  through  the  woods  to  the  bay. 
As  he  stepped  into  the  scooter,  Sam 
uel's  conscience  at  last  began  to  prick 
him. 

"Yew  sure  the  men  will  look  arter 
the  old  fellow  well  an'  not  let  him  over- 
dew?" 

But  the  whizz  of  the  flight  had  al 
ready  begun  and  the  scooter's  nose  was 
set  toward  Twin  Coves,  her  sail  skim 
ming  swiftly  with  the  ring  of  the  steel 
against  the  ice  over  the  shining  surface 
of  the  bay. 


THE  DESERTER 


"Law,  yes,"  Samuel  eased  his  con 
science;  "of  course  they  will.  They 
could  n't  hurt  him,  anyhow.  I  never 
seen  nobody  take  so  kindly  ter  hard- 
enin'  as  that  air  Abe." 


[227] 


XVIII 
SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 

THE  shore  at  Twin  Coves  was  a 
somewhat  lonely  spot,  owing  to 
stretches  of  marshland  and  a  sweep  of 
pine  wood  that  reached  almost  to  the 
edge  of  the  water. 

Samuel,  however,  having  indicated 
that  he  wished  to  be  landed  at  the  foot 
of  a  path  through  the  pines,  found 
himself  on  the  home  shore  scarcely  ten 
minutes  after  he  had  left  Bleak  Hill- 
Havens  already  speeding  toward  his 
home  some  miles  to  the  eastward,  the 
bay  seemingly  deserted  except  for  his 
sail,  a  high  wind  blowing,  and  the  snow 
beginning  to  fall  in  scattered  flakes. 

C228] 


SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 


Samuel  picked  up  his  grip,  trudged 
through  the  heavy  sand  of  the  narrow 
beach,  and  entered  the  sweet-smelling 
pine  wood.  He  was  stiff  with  cold 
after  the  rough,  swift  voyage ;  his  feet 
alone  were  hot — burning  hot  with  chil 
blains.  Away  down  in  his  heart  he 
was  uneasy  lest  some  harm  should 
come  to  Abe  and  the  old  man  be  caught 
in  the  approaching  storm  on  the  Beach. 
But,  oh,  was  n't  he  glad  to  be  home ! 

His  house  was  still  half  a  mile  away; 
but  he  was  once  more  on  good,  solid, 
dry  land. 

"I  '11  tell  Blossy  haow  that  air  Abe 
Rose  behaved,"  he  reassured  himself, 
when  he  pictured  his  wife's  astonished 
and  perhaps  reproachful  greeting, 
"an*  then  she  won't  wonder  that  I  had 
ter  quit  him  an'  come  back." 
[229] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


He  recollected  that  Angy  would  be 
there,  and  hoped  fervently  that  she 
might  not  prove  so  strenuous  a  charge 
as  Abraham.  Moreover,  he  hoped  that 
she  would  not  so  absorb  Blossy's  at 
tention  as  to  preclude  a  wifely  minis 
tering  to  his  aching  feet  and  the  appli 
cation  of  "St.  Jerushy  He"  to  his  lame 
and  sore  back. 

The  torture  of  the  feet  and  back 
made  walking  harder,  too,  than  he  had 
believed  possible  with  the  prospect  of 
relief  so  near.  As  he  limped  along  he 
was  forced  to  pause  every  now  and 
again  and  set  down  the  carpet-bag, 
sometimes  to  rub  his  back,  sometimes 
to  seat  himself  on  a  stump  and  nurse 
for  a  few  moments  one  of  those 
demon-possessed  feet.  Could  he  have 
[230:] 


SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 


made  any  progress  at  all  if  he  had 
not  known  that  at  home,  no  matter  if 
there  was  company,  there  would  at 
least  be  no  Abe  Rose  to  keep  him  go 
ing,  to  spur  him  on  to  unwelcome  ac 
tion,  to  force  him  to  prove  himself  out 
of  sheer  self-respect  the  equal,  if  not 
the  superior,  in  masculine  strength? 

Abe  had  led  him  that  chase  over  at 
the  Station,  Samuel  was  convinced,  "a- 
purpose"  to  punish  him  for  having  so 
soundly  berated  him  when  he  lay 
a-bed.  That  was  all  the  thanks  you  ever 
got  for  doing  things  for  "some  folks." 

Samuel  hobbled  onward,  his  brow 
knit  with  angry  resentment.  Did  ever 
a  half-mile  seem  so  long,  and  had  he 
actually  been  only  twenty-three  hours 
from  home  and  Blossy?  Oh,  oh!  his 

£231:3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


back  and  his  feet!  Oh,  the  weight  of 
that  bag !  How  much  he  needed  sleep ! 
How  good  it  would  be  to  have  Blossy 
tuck  him  under  the  covers,  and  give 
him  a  hot  lemonade  with  a  stick  of  gin 
ger  in  it! 

If  only  he  had  hold  of  Abe  Rose  now 
to  tell  him  his  opinion  of  him!  Well, 
he  reflected,  you  have  to  summer  and 
winter  with  a  person  before  you  can 
know  them.  This  one  December  day 
and  night  with  Abe  had  been  equal  to 
the  revelations  of  a  dozen  seasons. 
The  next  time  Samuel  tried  to  do  good 
to  anybody  more  than  sixty-five,  he  'd 
know  it.  The  next  time  he  was  per 
suaded  into  leaving  his  wife  for  over 
night,  he  'd  know  that,  too.  Various 
manuals  for  the  young  husband,  which 
he  had  consulted,  to  the  contrary  not- 


SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 

withstanding,  the  place  for  a  married 
man  was  at  home. 

Samuel  sat  down  on  a  fallen  tree 
which  marked  the  half-way  point  be 
tween  his  place  and  the  bay.  The  last 
half  of  the  journey  would  seem 
shorter,  and,  at  the  end,  there  would 
be  Blossy  smiling  a  welcome,  for  he 
never  doubted  but  that  Blossy  would 
be  glad  to  see  him.  She  thought  a  good 
deal  of  him,  nor  had  she  been  especially 
anxious  for  that  week  of  separation. 

His  face  smoothed  its  troubled 
frowns  into  a  look  of  shining  anticipa 
tion — the  look  that  Samuel's  face  had 
worn  when  first  he  ushered  Blossy  into 
his  tidy,  little  home  and  murmured 
huskily: 

"Mis'  Darby,  yew  're  master  o'  the 
vessel  naow;  I  'm  jest  fo'castle  hand." 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Forgetting  all  his  aches,  his  pains, 
his  resentments,  Samuel  took  a  pepper 
mint-lozenge  out  of  his  pocket,  rolled 
it  under  his  tongue,  and  walked  on. 
Presently,  as  he  saw  the  light  of  the 
clearing  through  the  trees,  he  broke 
into  a  run, — an  old  man's  trot, — thus 
proving  conclusively  that  his  worry  of 
lumbago  and  chilblains  had  been 
merely  a  wrongly  diagnosed  case  of 
homesickness. 

He  grinned  as  he  pictured  Abe's  dis 
may  on  returning  to  the  Station  to  find 
him  gone.  Still,  he  reflected,  maybe 
Abe  would  have  a  better  time  alone 
with  the  young  fellows ;  he  had  grown 
so  plagued  young  himself  all  of  a  sud 
den.  Samuel  surely  need  not  worry 
about  him. 

More  and  more  good-natured  grew 


SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 


Samuel's  face,  until  a  sociable  rabbit, 
peeping  at  him  from  behind  a  bush, 
decided  to  run  a  race  with  the  old  gen 
tleman,  and  hopped  fearlessly  out  into 
the  open. 

"Ah,  yew  young  rascal !"  cried  Sam 
uel.  "Yew  're  the  feller  that  eat  up 
all  my  winter  cabbages." 

At  this  uncanny  reading  of  his  mind, 
Mr.  Cottontail  darted  off  into  the 
woods  again  to  seek  out  his  mate  and 
inform  her  that  their  guilt  had  been 
discovered. 

Finally,  Samuel  came  to  the  break 
in  the  woodland,  an  open  field  of  rye, 
green  as  springtime  grass,  and  his  own 
exquisitely  neat  abode  beckoning 
across  the  gray  rail-fence  to  him. 

How  pretty  Blossy's  geraniums 
looked  in  the  sitting-room  windows ! 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Even  at  this  distance,  too,  he  could  see 
that  she  had  not  forgotten  to  water 
his  pet  abutilon  and  begonias.  How 
welcome  in  the  midst  of  this  flurry  of 
snow— how  welcome  to  his  eye  was 
that  smoke  coming  out  of  the  chim 
neys  !  All  the  distress  of  his  trip  away 
from  home  seemed  worth  while  now 
for  the  joy  of  coming  back. 

Before  he  had  taken  down  the  fence- 
rail  and  turned  into  the  path  which  led 
to  his  back  door,  he  was  straining  his 
ears  for  the  sound  of  Blossy's  voice 
gossiping  with  Angy.  Not  hearing  it, 
he  hurried  the  faster. 

The  kitchen  door  was  locked.  The 
key  was  not  under  the  mat ;  it  was  not 
in  the  safe  on  the  porch,  behind  the 
stone  pickle-pot.  He  tried  the  door 
again,  and  then  peered  in  at  the  window. 

1:2363 


SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 


Not  even  the  cat  could  be  discerned. 
The  kitchen  was  set  in  order,  the  break 
fast  dishes  put  away,  and  there  was 
no  sign  of  any  baking  or  preparations 
for  dinner. 

He  knocked,  knocked  loudly.  No 
answer.  He  went  to  a  side  door,  to  the 
front  entrance,  and  found  the  whole 
house  locked,  and  no  key  to  be  discov 
ered.  It  was  still  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  earlier  than  Blossy  would  have 
been  likely  to  set  out  upon  an  errand 
or  to  spend  the  day;  and  then,  too,  she 
was  not  one  to  risk  her  health  in  such 
chilly,  damp  weather,  with  every  sign 
of  a  heavy  storm. 

Samuel  became  alarmed.  He  called 
sharply,  "Blossy !"  No  answer.  "Mis' 
Rose!"  No  answer.  "Ezra!"  And 
still  no  sound  in  reply. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


His  alarm  increased.  He  went  to 
the  barn;  that  was  locked  and  Ezra 
nowhere  in  sight.  By  standing  on  tip 
toe,  however,  and  peeping  through  a 
crack  in  the  boards,  he  found  that  his 
horse  and  the  two-seated  surrey  were 
missing. 

"Waal,  I  never,"  grumbled  Samuel, 
conscious  once  more  of  all  his  physical 
discomforts.  "The  minute  my  back  's 
turned,  they  go  a-gallivantin'.  I  bet 
yer,"  he  added  after  a  moment's 
thought,  "I  bet  yer  it  's  that  air  Angy 
Rose.  She  's  got  ter  git  an'  gad  every 
second  same  as  Abe,  an'  my  poor  wife 
has  been  drug  along  with  her." 

There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to 
do  but  seek  refuge  in  his  shop  and 
await  their  return.  Like  nearly  every 
other  bayman,  he  had  a  one-room 

1:2383 


SAMUEL'S  WELCOME 


shanty,  which  he  called  the  "shop," 
and  where  he  played  at  building  boats, 
and  weaving  nets,  and  making  oars 
and  tongs 

This  structure  stood  to  the  north  of 
the  house,  and  fortunately  had  an  old, 
discarded  kitchen  stove  in  it.  There, 
if  the  wanderers  had  not  taken  that 
key  also,  he  could  build  a  fire,  and 
stretch  out  before  it  on  a  bundle  of 
sail-cloth. 

He  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  how 
ever,  as  he  approached  the  place;  for 
surely  that  was  smoke  coming  out  of 
the  chimney ! 

Ezra  must  have  gone  out  with  the 
horse,  and  Blossy  must  be  entertaining 
Angy  in  some  outlandish  way  de 
manded  by  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the 
Rose  temperament. 

[239] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Samuel  flung  open  the  door,  and 
strode  in;  but  only  to  pause  on  the 
threshold,  struck  dumb.  Blossy  was 
not  there,  Angy  was  not  there,  nor  any 
one  belonging  to  the  household.  But 
sitting  on  that  very  bundle  of  canvas, 
stretching  his  lean  hands  over  the 
Stove,  with  Samuel's  cat  on  his  lap, 
was  the  "Old  Hoss"— Abraham  Rose! 


XIX 

EXCHANGING   THE   OLIVE-BRANCH 

THE  cat  jumped  off  Abe's  lap,  run 
ning  to  Samuel  with  a  mew  of 
recognition.    Abe  turned  his  head,  and 
made  a  startled  ejaculation. 

"Sam'l  Darby,"  he  said  stubbornly, 
"ef  yew  Ve  come  tew  drag  me  back  to 
that  air  Beach,  yew  're  wastin'  time.  I 
won't  go !" 

Samuel  closed  the  door  and  hung  his 
;  damp  coat  and  cap  over  a  suit  of  old 
oilskins.  He  came  to  the  fire,  taking 
off  his  mittens  and  blowing  on  his  fin 
gers,  the  suspicious  and  condemnatory 
tail  of  his  eye  on  Abraham. 

£241:1 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

"Haow  'd  yew  git  here?"  he  burst 
forth.  "What  yew  bin  an'  done  with 
my  wife,  an'  my  horse,  an'  my  man, 
an'  my  kerridge?  Haow  'd  yew  git 
here?  What  'd  yew  come  fer? 
When  'd  yew  git  here  ?" 

"What  'd  yew  come  fer?"  retorted 
Abe  with  some  spirit.  "Haow  'd  yew 
git  here?" 

"None  o'  yer  durn'  business." 

A  glimmer  of  the  old  twinkle  came 
back  into  Abe's  eye,  and  he  began  to 
chuckle. 

"I  guess  we  might  as  waal  tell  the 
truth,  Sam'l.  We  both  tried  to  be  so 
all-fired  young  yesterday  that  we  got 
played  out,  an'  concluded  unanermous 
that  the  best  place  fer  a  A  No.  I  spree 
was  ter  hum." 

Samuel    gave    a    weak    smile,    and 


THE  OLIVE-BRANCH 


drawing  up  a  stool  took  the  cat  upon 
his  knee. 

"Yes,"  he  confessed  grudgingly,  "I 
found  out  fer  one  that  I  hain't  no 
spring  lamb." 

"Ner  me,  nuther,"  Abe's  old  lips 
trembled:  "I  had  eyester-stew  an' 
drunk  coffee  in  the  middle  o'  the  night ; 
then  the  four-o'clock  patrol  wakes  me 
up  ag'in.  'Here,  be  a  sport,'  they  says, 
an'  sticks  a  piece  o'  hot  mince-pie  un 
der  my  nose.  Then  I  was  so  oneasy  I 
could  n't  sleep.  Daybreak  I  got  up, 
an'  went  fer  a  walk  ter  limber  up  my 
belt,  an'  I  sorter  wandered  over  ter  the 
bay  side,  an'  not  a  mile  out  I  see  tew 
men  with  one  o'  them  big  fishin'-scoot- 
ers  a-haulin'  in  their  net.  An'  I  walked 
a  ways  out  on  the  ice,  a-signalin'  with 
my  bandana  han'kercher;  an'  arter  a 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

time  they  seen  me.  'T  was  Cap'n  Ely 
from  Injun  Head  an'  his  boy.  Haow 
them  young  'uns  dew  grow !  Las'  time 
I  see  that  kid,  he  wa'  n't  knee-high  tew 
a  grasshopper. 

"Waal,  I  says  tew  'em,  I  says: 
'Want  ter  drop  a  passenger  at  Twin 
Coves?'  'Yes,  yes/  they  says.  'Jump 
in.'  An'  so,  Sam'l,  I  gradooated  from 
yer  school  o'  hardenin'  on  top  a  ton  o'. 
squirmin'  fish,  more  er  less.  I  thought 
I  'd  come  an'  git  Angy,"  he  ended  with 
a  sigh,  "an'  yer  hired  man  'd  drive  us 
back  ter  Shoreville;  but  thar  wa'  n't 
nobody  hum  but  a  mewin'  cat,  an'  the 
only  place  I  could  git  inter  was  this 
here  shop.  Wonder  whar  the  gals  has 
gone  ?" 

No  mention  of  the  alarm  that  he 
must  by  this  time  have  caused  at  the 


THE  OLIVE-BRANCH 


Station.  No  consciousness  of  having 
committed  any  breach  against  the  laws 
of  hospitality.  But  there  was  that  in 
the  old  man's  face,  in  his  worn  and 
wistful  look,  which  curbed  Samuel's 
tongue  and  made  him  understand  that 
as  a  little  child  misses  his  mother  so 
Abe  had  missed  Angy,  and  as  a  little 
homesick  child  comes  running  back  to 
the  place  he  knows  best  so  Abe  was 
hastening  back  to  the  shelter  he  had 
scorned. 

So,  with  an  effort,  Samuel  held  his 
peace,  merely  resolving  that  as  soon  as 
he  could  get  to  a  telephone  he  would 
inform  their  late  hosts  of  Abe's  safety. 

There  was  no  direct  way  of  tele 
phoning;  but  a  message  could  be  sent 
to  the  Quogue  Station,  and  from  there 
forwarded  to  Bleak  Hill. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


"I  Ve  had  my  lesson,"  said  Abe. 
"The  place  fer  old  folks  is  with  old 
folks/' 

"But" — Samuel  recovered  his  au 
thoritative  manner— "the  place  fer  an 
old  man  ain't  with  old  hens.  Naow, 
Abe,  ef  yew  think  yew  kin  behave  yer- 
self  an'  not  climb  the  flagpole  or  jump 
over  the  roof,  I  want  yer  to  stay  right 
here,  yew  an'  Angy  both,  an'  spend  yer 
week  out.  Yes,  yes,"  as  Abe  would 
have  thanked  him.  "I  take  it,"  plung 
ing  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  "yew  ain't 
stowed  away  nothin'  since  that  mince- 
pie  ;  but  I  can't  offer  yer  nothin'  to  eat 
till  Blossy  gits  back  an'  opens  up  the 
house,  'cept-  these  here  pepp'mints. 
They  're  fine;  try  'em." 

With  one  of  those  freakish  turns  of 
the  weather  that  takes  the  conceit  out 
£246] 


THE  OLIVE-BRANCH 


of  all  weather-prophets,  the  snow  had 
now  ceased  to  fall,  the  sun  was  strug 
gling  out  of  the  clouds,  and  the  wind 
was  swinging  around  to  the  west. 

Neither  of  the  old  men  could  longer 
fret  about  their  wives  being  caught  in 
a  heavy  snow;  but,  nevertheless,  their 
anxiety  concerning  the  whereabouts 
of  the  women  did  not  cease,  and  the 
homesickness  which  Abe  felt  for  Angy, 
and  Samuel  for  Blossy,  rather  in 
creased  than  diminished  as  one  sat  on 
the  roll  of  canvas  and  the  other 
crouched  on  his  stool,  and  both  hugged 
the  fire,  and  both  felt  very  old,  and 
very  lame,  and  very  tired  and  sore. 

Toward  noontime  they  heard  the 
welcome  sound  of  wheels,  and  on  rush 
ing  to  the  door  saw  Ezra  driving  alone 
to  the  barn.  He  did  not  note  their  ap- 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


pcarance  in  the  doorway  of  the  shop; 
but  they  could  see  from  the  look  on  his 
face  that  nothing  had  gone  amiss. 

Samuel  heard  the  shutting  of  the 
kitchen  door,  and  knew  that  Blossy 
was  at  home,  and  a  strange  shyness 
submerged  of  a  sudden  his  eagerness 
to  see  her. 

What  would  she  say  to  this  unex 
pected  return?  Would  she  laugh  at 
him,  or  be  disappointed? 

"Yew  go  fust,"  he  urged  Abe,  "an' 
tell  my  wife  that  I  Ve  got  the  chilblains 
an'  lumbago  so  bad  I  can't  hardly  git 
tew  the  house,  an'  I  had  ter  come  hum 
fer  my  'St.  Jerushy  He'  an'  her  receipt 
fer  frosted  feet." 


XX 

THE    FATTED    CALF 

A  BE  had  no  such  qualms  as  Samuel. 
XX  He  wanted  to  see  Angy  that  min 
ute,  and  he  did  not  care  if  she  did 
know  why  he  had  returned. 

He  fairly  ran  to  the  back  door  under 
the  grape  arbor,  so  that  Samuel,  ob 
serving  his  gait,  was  seized  with  a  fear 
that  he  might  be  that  young  Abe  of  the 
Beach,  during  his  visit,  after  all. 

Abraham  rushed  into  the  kitchen 
without  stopping  to  knock.  "I  'm  back, 
Mother/'  he  cried,  as  if  that  were  all 
the  joyful  explanation  needed. 

She  was  struggling  with  the  strings 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


of  her  bonnet  before  the  looking-glass 
which  adorned  Blossy's  parlor-kitchen. 
She  turned  to  him  with  a  little  cry,  and 
he  saw  that  her  face  had  changed  mar- 
velously — grown  young,  grown  glad, 
grown  soft  and  fresh  with  a  new  ex 
cited  spirit  of  jubilant  thanksgiving. 

"Oh,  Father !  Were  n't  yew  s'prised 
tew  git  the  telephone?  I  knowed 
yew  'd  come  a-flyin'  back." 

Blossy  appeared  from  the  room  be 
yond,  and  slipped  past  them,  knowing 
intuitively  where  she  would  find  her 
lord  and  master;  but  neither  of  them 
observed  her  entrance  or  her  exit. 

Angy  clung  to  Abe,  and  Abe  held 
her  close.  What  had  happened  to  her, 
the  undemonstrative  old  wife?  What 
made  her  so  happy,  and  yet  tremble  so? 
V/hy  did  she  cry,  wetting  his  cheek 
[250] 


THE  FATTED  CALF 


with  her  tears,  when  she  was  so  palpa 
bly  glad?  Why  had  she  telephoned 
for  him,  unless  she,  too,  had  missed 
him  as  he  had  missed  her? 

Recalling  his  memories  of  last  night, 
the  memories  of  that  long-ago  honey 
moon-time,  he  murmured  into  his  gray 
beard,  "Dearest!" 

She  did  not  seem  to  think  he  was 
growing  childish.  She  was  not  even 
surprised.  At  last  she  said,  half  be 
tween  sobbing  and  laughing: 

"Oh,  Abe,  ain't  God  been  good 'to 
us?  Ain't  it  jist  bewtiful  to  be  rich? 
Rich!"  she  cried.  "Rich!" 

Abe  sat  down  suddenly,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  In  a  flash  he 
understood,  and  he  could  not  let  even 
Angy  see  him  in  the  light  of  the  reve 
lation. 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

"The  minin'  stock!"  he  muttered; 
and  then  low  to  himself,  in  an  awed 
whisper:  "Tenafly  Gold!  The  minin' 
stock!" 

After  a  while  he  recovered  himself 
sufficiently  to  explain  that  he  had  not 
received  the  telephone  message,  and 
therefore  knew  nothing. 

"Did  I  git  a  offer,  Mother?" 

"A  offer  of  fifteen  dollars  a  share. 

The  letter  come  last  night  fer  yew,  an' 
I »> 

"Fifteen  dollars  a  share!"  He  was 
astounded.  "An*  we  've  got  five  thou 
sand  shares!  Fifteen  dollars,  an'  I 
paid  ninety  cents!  Angy,  ef  ever  I 
ketch  yew  fishin'  yer  winter  bunnit  out 
of  a  charity  barrel  ag'in,  I  '11—  Fif 
teen  dollars !" 

"But  that  ain't  the  best  of  it,"  inter- 

C252] 


THE  FATTED  CALF 


rupted  Angy.  "I  could  n't  sleep  a  wink, 
an'  Blossy  says  not  ter  send  word  tew 
yew,  'cuz  mebbe  't  was  a  joke,  an'  to 
wait  till  mornin'  an'  go  see  Sam'l's 
lawyer  down  ter  Injun  Head.  That  's 
whar  we  've  jest  come  from,  an'  we 
telephoned  ter  Quogue  Station  from 
thar.  An'  the  lawyer  at  fust  he  did  n't 
'pear  tew  think  very  much  of  it;  but 
Blossy,  she  got  him  ter  call  up  some 
broker  feller  in  'York,  an'  'Gee  whizz !' 
he  says,  turnin'  'round  all  excited  from 
the  'phone.  'Tenafly  Gold  is  sellin'  fer 
twenty  dollars  on  the  Curb  right  this 
minute!'  An'  he  says,  says  he:  'Yew 
git  yer  husband,  an'  bring  that  air 
stock  over  this  arternoon;  an','  says 
he,  'I  '11  realize  on  it  fer  yer  ter-morrer 


mornin'.' 


Abe  stared  at  his  wife,  at  her  shin- 
C2533 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


ing  silk  dress  with  its  darns  and  care 
ful  patches,  at  her  rough,  worn  hands, 
and  at  the  much  mended  lace  over  her 
slender  wrists. 

"That  mine  was  closed  down  eight 
een  years  ago;  they  must  'a'  opened  it 
up  ag'in";  he  spoke  dully,  as  one 
stunned.  Then  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
energy,  his  eyes  still  on  his  wife's  fig 
ure:  "Mother,  that  dress  o'  yourn  is  a 
disgrace  fer  the  wife  of  a  financierer. 
Yew  better  git  a  new  silk  fer  yerself 
an'  Miss  Abigail,  tew,  fust  thing.  Her 
Sunday  one  hain't  nothin'  extry." 

"But  yer  old  beaver,  Abe!"  Angy 
protested.  "It  looks  as  ef  it  come  out 
o' the  Ark!" 

"Last  Sunday  yew  said  it  looked 
splendid" ;  his  tone  was  absent-minded 
again.  He  seemed  almost  to  ramble 

C254] 


THE  FATTED  CALF 


in  his  speech.  "We  must  see  that  Ish- 
mael  gits  fixed  up  comfortable  in  the 
Old  Men's  Home ;  yew  remember  haow 
he  offered  us  all  his  pennies  that  day 
we  broke  up  housekeepin'.  An'  we 
must  do  somethin'  handsome  fer  the 
Darbys,  tew.  Ef  it  had  n't  been  fer 
Sam'l,  I  might  be  dead  naow,  an'  never 
know  nothin'  erbout  this  here  streak  o' 
luck.  Tenafly  Gold,"  he  continued  to 
mutter.  "They  must  'a'  struck  a  new 
lead.  An'  folks  said  I  was  a  fool  tew 
invest." 

His  face  lightened.  The  weight  of 
the  shock  passed.  He  threw  off  the 
awe  of  the  glad  news.  He  smiled  the 
smile  of  a  happy  child. 

"Naow,  Mother,  we  kin  buy  back 
our  old  chair,  the  rocker  with  the  red 
roses  onto  it.  Seems  ter  me  them  rose;: 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

must  V  knowed  all  the  time  that  this 
was  a-goin'  ter  happen.  They  was  jest 
as  pert  an'  sassy  that  last  day— 

Angy  laughed.  She  laughed  softly 
and  with  unutterable  pride  in  her  hus 
band. 

"Why,  Father,  don't  yer  see  yew  kin 
buy  back  the  old  chair,  an'  the  old 
place,  too,  an'  then  have  plenty  ter 
spare  ?" 

"So  we  kin,  Mother,  so  we  kin";  he 
nodded  his  head,  surprised.  He 
plunged  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  as 
if  expecting  to  find  them  filled  with 
gold.  "Wonder  ef  Sam'l  would  n't 
lend  me  a  dollar  or  so  in  small  change. 
Ef  I  only  had  somethin'  ter  jingle, 
mebbe  I  could  git  closer  to  this  fac'." 
He  drew  her  to  him,  and  gave  her 
waist  a  jovial  squeeze.  "Hy-guy, 


THE  FATTED  CALF 


Mother,  we  're  rich!  Hain't  it  splen 
did?" 

Their  laughter  rang  out  together- 
trembling,  near-to-tears  laughter.  The 
old  place,  the  old  chair,  the  old  way, 
and— plenty!  Plenty  to  mend  the 
shingles.  Aye,  plenty  to  rebuild  the 
house,  if  they  chose.  Plenty  with 
which  to  win  back  the  smiles  of  Angy's 
garden.  The  dreadful  dream  of  need, 
and  lack,  and  want,  of  feeding  at  the 
hand  of  charity,  was  gone  by. 

Plenty !  Ah,  the  goodness  and  great 
ness  of  God !  Plenty !  Abe  wanted  to 
cry  it  out  from  the  housetops.  He 
wanted  all  the  world  to  hear.  He 
wished  that  he  might  gather  his  wealth 
together  and  drop  it  piece  by  piece 
among  the  multitude.  To  give  where 
he  had  been  given,  to  blossom  with 

0573 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


abundance  where  he  had  withered  with 
penury ! 

The  little  wife  read  his  thoughts. 
"We  '11  save  jest  enough  fer  ourselves 
ter  keep  us  in  comfort  the  rest  of  our 
lives  an'  bury  us  decent." 

They  were  quiet  a  long  while,  both 
sitting  with  bowed  heads  as  if  in 
prayer;  but  presently  Angy  raised  her 
face  with  an  exclamation  of  dismay : 

"Don't  it  beat  all,  that  it  happened 
jest  tew  late  ter  git  in  this  week's 
'Shoreville  Herald'!" 

"Tew  late?"  exclaimed  the  new- 
fledged  capitalist.  "Thar  hain't  nothin' 
tew  late  fer  a  man  with  money.  We  '11 
hire  the  editor  tew  git  out  another  pa 
per,  fust  thing  ter-morrer !" 


XXI 

"OUR    BELOVED    BROTHER" 

THE  services  of  the   "Shoreville 
Herald,"  however,  were  not  re 
quired  to  spread  the  news.    The  happi 
est  and  proudest  couple  on  Long  Island 

saw  their  names  with  the  story  of  their 

i 

sudden  accession  to  wealth  in  a  great 
New  York  daily  the  very  next  morn 
ing. 

A  tall,  old  gentleman  with  a  real 
"barber's  hair-cut,"  a  shining,  new 
high  hat,  a  suit  of  "store  clothes"  which 
fitted  as  if  they  had  been  made  for 
him,  a  pair  of  fur  gloves,  and  brand- 

C2593 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


new  ten-dollar  boots;  and  a  remark 
ably  pretty,  old  lady  in  a  violet  bonnet, 
a  long  black  velvet  cape,  with  new 
shoes  as  well  as  new  kid  gloves,  and  a 
big  silver-fox  muff— this  was  the 
couple  that  found  the  paper  spread  out 
on  the  hall  table  at  the  Old  Ladies' 
Home,  with  the  sisters  gathered  around 
it,  peering  at  it,  weeping  over  it,  laugh 
ing,  both  sorrowing  and  rejoicing. 

"This  '11  be  good-by  ter  Brother 
Abe,"  Aunt  Nancy  had  sniffed  when 
the  news  came  over  the  telephone  the 
day  before;  and  though  Miss  Abigail 
had  assured  her  that  she  knew  Abe 
would  come  to  see  them  real  often,  the 
matriarch  still  failed  to  be  consoled. 

"Hain't  you  noticed,  gals,"  she  per 
sisted,  "that  thar  hain't  been  a  death 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

in  the  house  sence  we  took  him  in? 
An'  I  missed  my  reg'lar  spell  o'  bron 
chitis  last  winter  an'  this  one  tew — so 
fur,"  she  added  dismally,  and  began  to 
cough  and  lay  her  hands  against  her 
chest.  "That  was  allus  the  way  when 
I  was  a  young  'un,"  she  continued  after 
a  while ;  "I  never  had  a  pet  dog  or  cat 
or  even  a  tame  chicken  that  it  did  n't 
up  an'  run  erway  sooner  or  later.  This 
here  loss,  gals,  '11  be  the  death  o'  me! 
Naow,  mark  my  words !" 

Then  followed  a  consultation  among 
the  younger  sisters,  the  result  of  which 
was  that  they  met  Abe  in  the  morning 
with  a  unanimous  petition.  They  could 
neither  ask  nor  expect  him  to  remain; 
that  was  impossible,  but— 

"Hip,  hooray!     Hip,  hip,  hooray!" 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


cried  Abe,  waving  an  imaginary  flag 
as  he  entered.  "Sam'l  dropped  us  at 
the  gate.  Him  an'  Blossy  went  on  ter 
see  Holmes  tew  dicker  erbout  buyin' 
back  the  old  place.  Takes  Blossy  an' 
Sam'l  tew  dew  business.  They  picked 
out  my  clothes  between  them  yist'day 
arternoon  deown  ter  Injun  village,  in 
the  Emporium.  Haow  yew  like  'em? 
Splendid,  eh  ?  See  my  yaller  silk  hand 
kerchief,  tew  ?  We  jest  dropped  in  ter 
git  our  things.  We  thought  mebbe 
yew  'd  want  ter  slick  up  the  room  an' 
git  ready  fer  the  new- 
He  was  allowed  to  say  no  more.  The 
sisters,  who  had  been  kissing  and  hug 
ging  Angy  one  by  one,  now  swooped 
upon  him.  He  was  hugged,  too,  with 
warm,  generous  congratulation,  his 
hands  were  both  shaken  until  they 
Cafe] 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

ached,  and  his  clothes  and  Angy's  si 
lently  admired.  But  no  one  said  a 
word,  for  not  one  of  the  sisters  was 
able  to  speak.  Angy,  thinking  that 
she  divined  a  touch  of  jealousy,  has 
tened  to  throw  off  her  wrap  and  dis 
play  the  familiar  old  worn  silk  gown 
beneath. 

"I  told  Abe  I  jest  would  n't  git  a 
new  silk  until  you  each  had  one  made 
tew.      Blossy   sent    for   the   samples 
Blossy-" 

"All  I  need  's  a  shroud,"  interrupted 
Aunt  Nancy  grimly. 

Angy  and  Abe  both  stared  at  her. 
She  did  look  gray  this  morning.  She 
did  seem  feeble  and  her  cough  did 
sound  hollow.  The  other  sisters 
glanced  also  at  Aunt  Nancy,  and  Sarah 
Jane  took  her  hand,  while  she  nudged 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

Mrs.  Homan  with  her  free  elbow  and 
Mrs.  Homan  nudged  Ruby  Lee  and 
Ruby  Lee  glanced  at  Lazy  Daisy 
and  Lazy  Daisy  drawled  out  mean 
ingly: 

"Miss  Abigail!" 

Then  Miss  Abigail,  twisting  the 
edge  of  her  apron  nervously,  spoke: 

"Much  obliged  to  you  I  be  in  behalf 
o'  all  the  sisters,  Brother  Abe  an'  ter 
Angy  tew.  We  know  yew  '11  treat  us 
right.  We  know  that  yew,"  resting 
her  eyes  on  Abe's  face,  "will  prove  ter 
be  the  'angel  unawares'  that  we  been 
entertainin',  but  we  don't  want  yew  ter 
waste  yer  money  on  a  cart-load  o'  silk 
dresses.  All  we  ask  o'  yew  is  jest 
ernough  tew  allow  us  ter  advertise  fer 
another  brother  member  ter  take  yer 
place." 

[2643 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

Who  could  describe  the  expression 
that  flashed  across  Abe's  face?— hurt 
astonishment,  wounded  pride,  jealous 
incomprehension. 

"Ter  take  my  place!"  he  glanced 
about  the  hall  defiantly.  Who  dared 
to  enter  there  and  take  his  place?— his 
place! 

"This  is  a  old  ladies'  home,"  he  pro 
tested.  "What  right  you  got  a-takin' 
in  a  good-f  er-nuthin'  old  man  ?  Mebbe 
he  'd  rob  yew  er  kill  yew !  When  men 
git  ter  rampagin',  yew  can't  tell  what 
they  might  dew." 

Sarah  Jane  nodded  her  head  know 
ingly,  as  if  to  exclaim : 

"Itoldyerso!" 

But  Miss  Abigail  hurriedly  ex 
plained  that  it  was  a  man  and  wife  that 
they  wanted.  She  blushed  as  she  added 
C26S3 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


that  of  course  they  would  not  take  a 
man  without  his  wife. 

"No,  indeed !  That  'd  be  highly  im 
proper,"  smirked  Ruby  Lee. 

Then  Abe  went  stamping  to  the 
stairway,  saying  sullenly: 

"All  right.  I  '11  give  yew  all  the 
money  yew  want  fer  advertising  an' 
yew  kin  say  he  '11  be  clothed  an'  dressed 
proper,  tew,  an'  supplied  with  terbac- 
cer  an'  readin'-matter  besides ;  but  jest 
wait  till  the  directors  read  that  adver 
tisement!  They  had  me  here  sorter 
pertendin'  ter  be  unbeknownst.  Come 
on,  Angy.  Let  's  go  up-stairs  an'  git 
our  things.  Let  's —  :  • 

Aunt  Nancy  half  arose  from  her 
chair,  resting  her  two  shaking  hands 
on  the  arms  of  it. 

"Brother  Abe,"  she  called  quaver- 
[266;] 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

ingly  after  the  couple,  "I  guess  yew 
kin  afford  ter  fix  up  any  objections  o' 
the  directors." 

Angy  pressed  her  husband's  arm  as 
she  joined  him  in  the  upper  hall. 

"Don't  yer  see,  Abe.  They  don't 
realize  that  that  poor  old  gentleman, 
whoever  he  may  be,  won't  be  yew. 
They  jest  know  that  yew  was  yew;  an' 
they  want  ter  git  another  jest  as  near 
like  yew  as  they  kin." 

Abe  grunted,  yet  nevertheless  went 
half-way  down-stairs  again  to  call  more 
graciously  to  the  sisters  that  he  would 
give  them  a  reference  any  time  for 
knowing  how  to  treat  a  man  just  right. 

"That  feller  '11  be  lucky,  gals,"  he 
added  in  tremulous  tones.  "I  hope 
he  '11  appreciate  yew  as  I  allers  done." 

Then  Abe  went  to  join  Angy  in  the 

1:267] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 

room  which  the  sisters  had  given  to 
him  that  bitter  day  when  the  cry  of  his 
heart  had  been  very  like  unto : 
"Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabachthani!" 
After  all,  what  was  there  of  his  and 
Angy's  here  ?  Their  garments  they  did 
not  need  now.  They  would  leave  them 
behind  for  the  other  old  couple  that 
was  to  come.  There  was  nothing  else 
but  some  simple  gifts.  He  took  up  a 
pair  of  red  wristlets  that  Mrs.  Homan 
had  knit,  and  tucked  them  in  his  new 
overcoat  pocket.  He  also  took  Abi 
gail's  bottle  of  "Jockey  Club"  which 
he  had  despised  so  a  few  days  ago,  and 
tucked  that  in  his  watch-pocket.  When 
he  bought  himself  a  watch,  he  would 
buy  a  new  clock  for  the  dining-room 
down-stairs,  too,— a  clock  with  no  such 
C268] 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

asthmatic  strike  as  the  present  one 
possessed.  All  his  personal  belongings 
— every  one  of  them  gifts — he  found 
room  for  in  his  pockets.  Angy  had 
even  less  than  he.  Yet  they  had  come 
practically  with  nothing— and  com 
pared  with  that  nothing,  what  they 
carried  now  seemed  much.  Angy  hesi 
tated  over  the  pillow-shams.  Did  they 
belong  to  them  or  to  the  new  couple  to 
come?  Abe  gazed  at  the  shams  too. 
They  had  been  given  to  him  and  Angy 
last  Christmas  by  all  the  sisters.  They 
were  white  muslin  with  white  cambric 
frills,  and  in  their  centers  was  embroi 
dered  in  turkey-red  cotton,  "Mother/' 
on  one  pillow,  "Father,"  on  the  other. 
Every  sister  in  the  Home  had  taken  at 
least  one  stitch  in  the  names. 

£269:1 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


Father  and  Mother— not  Angy  and 
Abe!  Why  Father  and  Mother?  A 
year  ago  no  one  could  have  foreseen 
the  fortune,  nor  have  prophesied  the 
possession  of  the  room  by  another  el 
derly  couple. 

Angy  drew  near  to  Abe,  and  Abe  to 
Angy.  They  locked  arms  and  stood 
looking  at  the  pillows.  He  saw,  and 
she  saw,  the  going  back  to  the  old  bed 
room  in  the  old  home  across  the  woods 
and  over  the  field — the  going  back. 
And  in  sharp  contrast  they  each  re 
called  the  first  time  that  they  had 
stepped  beneath  that  roof  nearly  half  a 
century  ago,— the  first  home-coming, 
—  when  her  mother-heart  and  his 
father-heart  had  been  filled  with  the 
hope  of  children— children  to  bless 
their  marriage,  children  to  complete 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

their  home,  children  to  love,  children 
to  feed  them  with  love  in  return. 

"Let 's  adopt  some  leetle  folks,"  said 
Angy,  half  in  a  whisper.  "I  'm  afeard 
the  old  place  '11  seem  lonesome  with 
out-" 

"Might  better  adopt  the  sisters" ;  he 
spoke  almost  gruffly.  "I  allers  did 
think  young  'uns  would  be  the  most 
comfort  tew  yew  after  they  growed 
up." 

"A  baby  is  dretful  cunnin',"  Angy 
persisted.  "But,"  she  added  sadly,  "I 
don't  suppose  a  teethin'  mite  would 
find  much  in  common  with  us." 

"Anyway,"  vowed  Abe,  suddenly 
beginning  to  unfasten  the  pillow- 
shams,  "these  belong  ter  us,  an'  I  'm 
a-goin'  ter  take  'em." 

They  went  down-stairs  silently,  the 


\ 
OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


shams  wrapped  in  a  newspaper  carried 
under  his  arm. 

"Waal,  naow,"— he  tried  to  speak 
cheerfully  as  they  rejoined  the  others, 
and  he  pushed  his  way  toward  the 
dining-room,  — "I  '11  go  an'  git  my  cup 
an'  sasser." 

But  Miss  Abigail  blocked  the  door, 
again  blushing,  again  confused. 

"That  'Tew-our-Beloved-Brother' 
cup,"  she  said  gently,  her  eyes  not 
meeting  the  wound  in  his,  "we  'bout 
concluded  yew  'd  better  leave  here  fer 
the  one  what  answers  the  ad.  Yew 
got  so  much  naow,  an'  him— 

She  did  not  finish.  She  could  not. 
She  felt  rather  than  saw  the  blazing 
of  Abe's  old  eyes.  Then  the  fire  be 
neath  his  brows  died  out  and  a  mist 
obscured  his  sight. 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

"Gals,"  he  asked  humbly,  "would 
yew  ruther  have  a  new  'beloved 
brother'?" 

For  a  space  there  was  no  answer. 
Aunt  Nancy's  head  was  bowed  in  her 
hands.  Lazy  Daisy  was  openly  sob 
bing.  Miss  Ellie  was  twisting  her  fin 
gers  nervously  in  and  out — she  un 
wound  them  to  clutch  at  Angy's  arm 
as  if  to  hold  her.  At  last  Miss  Abigail 
spoke  with  so  unaccustomed  a  sharp 
ness  that  her  voice  seemed  not  her 
own: 

"Sech  a  foolish  question  as  that  no 
body  in  their  sound  senses  would  ask." 

Abe  sat  down  in  his  old  place  at  the 
fireside  and  smiled  a  thousand  smiles 
in  one.  He  smiled  and  rubbed  his 
hands  before  the  blaze.  The  blaze  it 
self  seemed  scarcely  more  bright  and 
[273;] 


OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31 


warm  than  the  light  from  within  which 
transfigured  his  aged  face. 

"Gals,"  he  chuckled  in  his  old  fa 
miliar  way,  "I  dunno  how  Sam'l 
Darby  '11  take  it;  but  if  Mother  's 
willin',  I  guess  I  won't  buy  back  no 
more  of  the  old  place,  'cept'n'  jest  my 
rockin'-chair  with  the  red  roses  onto 
it ;  an'  all  the  rest  o'  this  here  plagued 
money  I  '11  hand  over  ter  the  direc 
tors,  an'  stay  right  here  an'  take  mv 
comfort." 

Angy  bent  down  and  whispered  in 
his  ear:  "I  'd  ruther  dew  it,  tew, 
Father.  Anythin'  else  would  seem  like 
goin'  a-visitin'.  But  yew  don't  want 
ter  go  an'  blame  me,"  she  added  anx 
iously,  "ef  yew  git  all  riled  up  an'  sick 
abed  ag'in." 

"Pshaw,  Mother,"  he  protested; 
[2743 


"OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER" 

"yew  f ergit  I  was  adopted  then ;  naow 
I  be  adoptin'.  Thar  's  a  big  differ 
ence." 

She  lifted  her  face,  relieved,  and 
smiled  into  the  relieved  and  radiant 
faces  of  Abe's  "children,"  and  her 
own. 


1:275:1 


KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN'S 
STORIES  OF  PURE   DELIGHT 

full   of  originality   and    humor,    kindliness   and   cheer 

fHE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  worn  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  cwee; 
freshness  of  an  old  New  England  meeting  house. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  In 
colors. 

Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
clever  and  original  American  girls.  Their  adventures  in  adjusting 
themselves  to  the  Scot  and  his  land  are  full  of  humor. 

PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 
with  "Penelope's  Progress." 

The  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor 
der  to  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  again  they  sharpen  their  wits  against 
ne  ,v  conditions,  and  revel  in  the  land  of  laughter  and  wit, 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artis- 
lie,  unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  cut  midst  a  circle 
of  austere  New  JEnglanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phe 
nomenal  dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
\  ~     by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Some  more  quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that  carry  Rebecca 
Jjrough  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

ROSE   O'  THE  RIVER.     With  illustrations  by  George 

Wright. 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
young  farmer,  The  girl's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
and  merges  the  story  into  an  emotional  strain  wnere  the  reader  fol 
lows  the  events  'Nilh  rapt  attention. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

IRVING  BACHELLER 

Full  of  the  real  atmosphere  of  American  home  life. 

THE  HAND-MADE  GENTLEMAN.      With  a   double- 
page  frontispiece. 

The  son<  of  a  wash-woman  begins  re-making  himself 
socially  and  imparts  his  system  to  his  numerous  friends.  A 
Story  of  rural  New  York  with  an  appreciation  of  American 
types  only  possible  from  the  pen  of  a  humor  loving  American. 

PARREL  OF  THE   BLESSED    ISLES.    With  illustra- 

tions  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

A  tale  of  the  North  Country.  In  Barrel,  the  clock  tinker, 
wit,  philosopher  and  man  of  mystery,  is  portrayed  a  force  hela 
in  fetters  and  covered  with  obscurity,  yet  strong  to  make  its 
way,  and  widely  felt. 

D'RI  AND  I:    A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 

with  the  British.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 
•D'ri"  was  a  mighty  hunter,  quaint,  rugged,  wise,  truth 
ful.     He  fights  magnificently  on  the  Lawrence,  and  is  a  strik 
ing  figure  in  this  enthusiastic  romance  of  early  America. 

EBEN  HOLDEN;    A  Tale  of  the  North  Country. 

A  story  of  the  hardy  wood-choppers  of  Vermont,  who 
founded  their  homes  in  the  Adirondack  wilderness.  "  Kben," 
the  hero,  is  a  bachelor  with  an  imagination  that  is  a  very 
wilderness  of  oddities. 

SILAS  STRONG:  Emperor  of  the  Woods. 

A  simple  account  of  one  summer  life,  as  it  was  lived  in  a 
part  of  the  Adirondack^.  Silas  Strong  is  a  woodland  philos 
opher,  and  his  camp  is  the  scene  of  an  impressive  little  love 
story. 

VERGILIUS;    A  Tale  ot  the  Coming  of  Christ 

A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Romal 
Patricians  whose  great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  o* 
Augustus  leads  them  through  the  momentous,  exciting  events 
that  marked  the  year  just  preceding  the  birth  of  Christ. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A     000  058  367     4 


